


Of Mammoths and Sabrecats

by Lil_Nezumi



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Sherlock (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: Game Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9215429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Nezumi/pseuds/Lil_Nezumi
Summary: GAME & QUEST SPOILERS - AU Skyrim & Sherlock characters – Basic retelling of the Dragonborn with an alternate twist, may explore several console quests in-depth also with added twists.  Sherlock and John pairing, always a must.  Sentinel senses are used as ancient warrior technique and of course there will be adventure, dark and light moments, civil war and of course, DRAGONS.





	1. Chapter 1

**TITLE:** Of Mammoths  & Sabrecats 

**Pairing:** JW/SH (Skyrim setting), others as they come

**_My Inspiration:_** Sherlock, mainly BBC (all media types); Sentinel (T.V. Series); Elder Scrolls (all versions, variations, etc…); of course also inspired by **_Fanfiction_** of all sorts; inspired **_Youtube_** Let’s Plays, including some modded versions too (may or may not be explained or may refer to a Youtuber that I love to listen to their role-play stories).

 

**Disclaimer:**   This is my standard disclaimer; I don’t own anything in regards to the sources of _**MY**_ **_Inspiration_**.  All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 

All the characters, worlds, base concepts or general ideas are just a bit food for the writing bug.  This story is pure fiction and is in no way meant to copy or reflect real life, events or people, should this happen then obviously it is pure coincidence.

**Author’s Note:** This is categorized as “ **M** ” for mature. It may or may not discuss mature subject mature, but will bring forth a few concepts that require maturity to continue, for your reading enjoyment. Not limited to sexual encounters, but may also contain disturbing ideas, concepts or depictions of graphic violence.

**Summary:**   GAME & QUEST SPOILERS - AU Skyrim & Sherlock characters – Basic retelling of the Dragonborn with an alternate twist, may explore several console quests in-depth also with added twists. Sherlock and John pairing, always a must. Sentinel senses are used as ancient warrior technique and of course there will be adventure, dark and light moments, civil war and of course, DRAGONS.

**Speech Legend:** (This is the standard by which I write my stories and therefore you will not see this repeated in future chapters) “Normal”

‘ _Thoughts_ ’

(…Other Languages/Sentinel bonded, telepathic/empathic, vocalized words for some names, places etc of Skyrim…)

(… _Other Languages/Dragons of Skyrim_ …)

 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

**CH 01 – 4E 201, Day 3 of Last Seed**  

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

 John’s head pounded. He’d felt the shift of someone moving next to him and the cold breeze on his exposed skin did and did not surprise him. He knew that he’d been relieved of his meagre gear, but at the very least he’d known to stash most of it before attempting to fully cross an unknown territorial borderland within the province of Skyrim. There have been rumours of conflict. 

He’d been trying to return to what he knew as home for a long time now, but his options had been limited by his abilities and by his lack of legal travel papers. His only hope had been through a rumour at a seedy local tavern north of the old Blade Sanctuary that now housed much of the Arcane University’s old library and ancient Imperial Archives. Much had been moved their when the Imperial Rule fell and the capital city was doomed to be overrun by Thalmor adjudicators and Imperial suck-ups. 

He’d been following a lead to hopefully find his sister from one of the smaller towns in the Rift when he found himself in the middle of a skirmish and someone had knocked him out by sneaking and hitting him on the back of his head. His last thought had been, ‘ _At least I knew not to trust that shifty Argonian Innkeeper._ ’ 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

**4E 176, Day 12 of Second Seed**

 

In a haze of dream-like memory John, actually Jion (…ee-on…) son of Watts, recalled the last time he saw his older sister Harjanni, (…har-yawn-ee…) affectionately known as Harry. She’d introduced him to the Riften smithy named Farrimond and then to the priests and priestesses of Mara at their temple within their birth city. 

“What’s going on Harry,” John had asked. “Why are you telling me about them?” 

Harry had taken him to their current home and said, “Look around.” The boy looked and then looked back at his older sister. She was older having seen seven more Hearthfires (…i…) than him, but he did listen to her. “We don’t own this house. Honeyside belongs to the city.” 

“But Father is not dead,” John replied. “He’s just gone.” 

“Yes, but so too is the money he made as a guard,” Harry explained and sighed. Her brother seemed so young to her (…ii…). He was only seven, but she didn’t want to see him placed in Honorhall Orphanage either. That was a place of nightmares for any child dragged there. “I’m doing the best I can. Maven promised me proper training. I’m going to learn to be a hand-maiden and eventually a courtesan.” 

“Maven Black-Briar is a liar Harry,” John had told her with a frown and his arms crossed over his small chest. “That brother of hers, Maul is just as bad. He’s a bully and a thug.” 

“I know, but this is the best that I can do,” Harry’d told him. “I want you to promise me that you’ll learn everything you can from the smithy and the priests. Learn your letters and numbers and learn a back-up trade. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been placed in Honorhall. Do you hear me? Work hard and you’ll stay free.” 

“But what about you,” John replied in his stubborn tone. He knew full well that it was his sister’s eyes that Maven envied. His sister’s eyes had that exotic yellow colour along with the fact that they both had excellent night vision due to their heritage. They were both a quarter Khajiit, a quarter Breton and half Nord. 

They’d also both been very lucky to have been born without tails or fur. Children like them usually were born with or without, no type of in-betweens hybrids existed. Although they both had to watch themselves carefully until they were finished maturing because nature itself did like surprises. 

He knew that she’d been worried about that, but when she became a woman her concerns were negligible. He knew that he’d have to wait until what the Nords considered his youth years to know whether he’d gain fur or human hair in the right places. They both had higher resistance to magic, but not as much as their exotic mother had. She’d been half Khajiit and half Breton. The two of them were hardy against the cold more so than most others coming from the southern provinces, but still they were considered Nord mutts and not true Nords due to their odd hair texture and eye colour. 

“I will be fine,” Harry said as she’d put her hands on his shoulders and shook him gently. “You know that I’m a woman now. I have to make my own way in the world and I’ve chosen my path.” She sighed and hugged him close. “Pack up as much as you can carry, including food. I will see you properly outfitted so that you are not taken advantage of.” 

“How can you pay for that,” John asked since he’d known just how many gold coins they had available. Two or three never equated any kind of full outfitting. However he’d done as she’d asked. 

He pulled a semi-heavy homemade blanket from his bed and another wool one along with his one set of clean clothes plus a sachet of dried herbs to keep everything smelling nice and rolled them all neatly together. He tied them using a sailor’s knotting technique that he learned when he’d played near the docks, creating a triple looping tie with a section of rope acting as the carrying handle for the cloth bundle. He heaved it over his shoulder and then filled a small leather satchel with whatever meagre food they had left, an apple, two full water-skins, a hunk of goat cheese, three small clay jugs of vegetable soup that was good hot or cold and a half loaf of day old bread. 

That’s when he noticed that she never packed up anything of hers. He looked around their shared room and noticed that all of her belongings were already gone. Either she’d moved them when he wasn’t looking or she sold off everything that she could in order to pay the priests and the smithy for the promised lessons. 

“Harry,” he asked in a confused tone as he tied the rusty iron dagger she’d given him to his waist. He slipped a small sharp knife in his left boot into the hidden sheath that they’d created together four nights ago. She showed him how to do it as she did her own shoes and boots. Boots on the inside or outside at ankles and shoes, their sheaths were on the bottom behind secure hinged latches. 

“No,” she said. “I’m the eldest and I will see to it that you get everything that I can get for you. That means learning and another outfit for you to grow into.” She then lifted a slightly tarnished amulet out of her pocket and placed it around his neck. It was an amulet of Mara. “Mara watch over you.” 

“And over you,” John said as he hid it under his cloth shirt. 

“You have two full years of paid learning ahead of you in Riften. After which I want you to leave and find your own fortune, if you can,” she said. “We both know that the Guild of this town may have their eyes on you because of your height, but do your best to learn from whomever wishes to teach you. Don’t linger in this city and never do anything that you’d regret.” 

“I understand,” John said. 

He understood some things. He’d been luckier than the children in the orphanage. He’d had parents that had been able to raise his sister and himself until his mother died of the same fever that had taken several people of their town. 

Maven Black-Briar was currently eighteen and very ambitious. She had been trying to recruit his sister for three years and now it seemed like that awful bitch had won. “But why,” he asked. “Why her?” 

“She has the money and I’m taking her place in the training,” Harry said. “I’ve done many things to get food on the table for you John and I’m glad that you’re keeping Mam’s recipes. But I can’t continue doing what I’ve done and not end up on the streets as little more than a whore or a camp follower. I know that I’m better than that.” 

John’s head lowered as he looked to the shoes that fit his feet. He knew what she’d done to get them for him. Their neighbours were not kind and were the worst kind of gossips. But this was just that kind of town. It ran on gossip and whatever could be used for blackmail or other nefarious circumstances. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I don’t want that for you either.” He looked up at her with his determined light blue-gray eyes and declared. “One day I will take your papers from Maven and burn them. I will free you as soon as I can Harry, I promise you that. It’s my word as the man of the Watts family.” 

“My word as the Elder of this family is more important, but I will come with you when I am freed,” Harry returned just as seriously. “I want to see you working hard. You will not see me for several years, but I will be watching you from the training tower. I expect to see you running and working hard, promise me this.” 

He looked at her earnest, determined and then hugged around her middle. 

Harry then led him out of their house for the last time. They headed towards the Pawned Prawn where she sold the last of their meagre plates and cups. She used part of that money to purchase him a mismatched outfit of blues and greens, but at the very least they were clean and a little bit bigger than his hidden secondary set. 

She then took him to Farrimond, their teen friend Balimund’s father. The man had already agreed that the small boy could sleep by the forge fires if the child agreed to be a runner between him and the small village of Shor’s Rock where the bulk of his ore came from. 

John agreed, along with the promise that if he ever came across any fire salts he’d bring them to Farrimond for the forge fires. The man had chuckled and ruffled the boy’s dirty blond mess of hair. The entire town had known the secret of the forge’s fires, but none had been able to supply the man with the alchemy ingredient he needed to maintain them. 

It was a youngish dark elf female that greeted them in the temple of Mara. The elf may have looked young, but as it usually went with the variety of mers in their world she was older than she seemed. She had agreed to her placement in this city rife with thieves, but Mara was merciful and watched over all with compassion. She was there to learn patience and acceptance. 

“Harry are you sure about this,” Dinya Balu asked when they reached her section in the temple. “Are you quite sure about your chosen course of action?” 

“It’s already done priestess,” Harry told her. “This is my brother, John. He will be learning his letters and numbers here.” 

The priestess gave a small smile to him. “Welcome John,” she said. “May Mara watch over you,” she smiled a bit more as she noticed him clasping a hidden amulet. It had been one that she’d handed over to his sister, but it was obvious that the girl had given it away when she’d made her decision to sign away part of her life to those that tended to run this city from behind the scenes or under the court’s view. “I will be happy to teach you your letters.” 

“Thank you,” John blushed and looked at her a bit shyly. 

He was hugged from behind by his sister who whispered in his ear. “Take care of yourself,” she said. “Remember I will know if you’re not learning your lessons. You promise me two full years.” 

“Yes, I promise,” he whispered back and clutched her arms to him before he felt them leave. He closed his eyes to concentrate on her breathing and footsteps near running out the door of the temple. He kept his eyes closed to follow those steps for a bit and to hide the fact that he wanted to cry. She was never one for lingering good-byes. 

It was not the way of the Nords after all. It would be up to Talos and the rest of the Eight Divines as to when he’d eventually see her next. He took a deep breath to remember the last of her scent and then opened his eyes to the sad kindness he saw in the eyes of the young priestess before him. He only said, “I want to learn.” 

Dinya Balu nodded and nudged him to a small alcove where they had a small bookshelf with an even smaller offering of real books. She took a small black slate and white chalk pencil from the pile on top of the shelf and said, “Let us begin with the letters and how they form words.” 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**4E 201, Day 3 of Last Seed**

 

“Oi,” a voice called out to John. “Are you awake yet?” 

John blinked at the bright harshness of sun on snow. It was an element that he’d near forgotten existed during his extensive travels in Tamriel. He blinked some more to get rid of the gray haze in his mind. He took a quick look around the wagon that rumbled over a barely cobble road. 

“What’s his problem,” another man asked of someone that seemed to have a muffled voice. 

“Watch your tone,” replied the first voice. “You’re talking to Jarl Ulfric.” (…jarl = yah-rrrel (yes roll that R)…)

 

“Jarl Ulfric,” the second voice said. “No, it can’t be. Where are they taking us?” 

“Wherever it is,” the first man said. “Sovengarde awaits.” Muttered prayers to the eight gods above was heard from the second man as the first explained that John had been caught trying to cross the territorial border illegally, same as the thief nearby. 

John frowned. He knew about trying to cross a border, but why was there a Skyrim Jarl in the back of a prisoner wagon with a couple of border hoppers. He looked forward and noticed some Thalmor high-elves talking with other Imperial guards down a side road. 

‘ _What in Oblivion is going here,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _I haven’t been gone that long, have I? There are not many Thalmor wanderers in the provinces._ ’

He’d kept his head down until they stopped and the horse thief tried to run from his fate. The thief was shot down by a rain of arrows from the ever watchful Helgen guards. 

An obvious Nord man in imperial leathers stood next to an Imperial woman in heavy armour called for him to identify himself. He only told him that his name was John. He snorted when they called him a Breton and when he received a promise that his remains would be returned to High Rock. He did have the colouring because he’d come from the southern province, but his blond hair and stance should have given him away. Unfortunately he did not have that much height and it was a common misconception that Nords were always tall. 

“Must be the height,” he muttered softly as the prisoner next to him in rebel blues refused to put up with the lengthy prayer from a priestess of Arkay wishing them safe passage to the Aetherium rather than they preferred Sovengarde. 

“As brave in death as he was in life,” a blond Nord said loud enough for John to look towards him and wonder just what in Oblivion were people learning these days. Skyrim Nords were a battle hardened people, but to walk up to a butcher block without a token protest was stupid. 

“Next the Breton,” the female officer said in a low tone of voice as though to make her gender disappear. It didn’t work since the armour was formed to the shape her chest and did nothing to hide that she was female. He ignored the call like the others when they murmurs were drowned by a loud animalistic roar, until she shouted, “I said next prisoner.” 

John was pushed from behind. He sighed and knew that despite the number of rebel prisoners, there were more Imperials. He’d rather go quickly than be filled with arrow holes from bow happy guards if he tried to running like the unlucky thief. 

A roar of animal irritation echoed through the village again before the source appeared as John was about to lose his head. He blinked in shock and felt dizzy when the creature roared again releasing a breath of fire in the direction of the city’s wooden buildings over his head. 

“Hey you, Breton,” he heard the ever cheerful Nord, one Ralof of Riverwood as was his name on the roll call of condemned Stormcloak rebels. “Hey, get up and get to the tower behind me.” 

John shook his head, stumbled to stand on his feet with his one seemingly weakened leg and then he glanced around before making his charge into the tower. He had to time it so that he would not be hit by falling debris or a random burst of fly-by fiery breath of dragon flames. 

He wanted to help those that were injured, but his hands were stilled tied. ‘ _Why doesn’t someone untie my hands,_ ’ he thought as he looked out the diamond shaped arrow holes of the watchtower. He noticed the near systematic destruction of Helgen by the dragon, but it also looked like the creature was tracking something. ‘ _What is it looking for?_ ’ 

“We need to move,” Jarl Ulfric shouted above the dragon’s roar. “NOW!” 

Ralof nodded, looked to John and said. “Up the stairs and through the tower.” 

John only nodded and allowed the man to lead as he thought, ‘ _No way am I going to go first._ ’ 

However as they reached the top where another rebel was trying to clear out the mess of broken flooring the dragon’s large black head burst through the wall. John barely understood the words as a breath of flames roasted the rebel before the dragon’s presence receded from the opening it had created. 

He nearly glared at Ralof for telling to jump over to the next building through the hole in the roof. 

“My hands,” John said. “Untie my hands,” the long haired blond Nord had ignored him, only to continue pointing to the burning Inn. “Bloody useless git,” he muttered. 

John jumped and rolled. He gingerly made his way across creaking floorboards and dropped through a hole in the floor. He didn’t land well and his aching leg was troubling him again. He needed a staff or walking stick, but knew that now was not the time to complain. He huffed and from the shade of the doorway watched as that previous Nord dressed in Imperial leathers instructed others to get out of the creature’s way and to get a surviving child away to safety. 

“Gods be with you Hadvar,” an old man said as he guided the child further away. 

Hadvar then looked to John and said, “Still alive prisoner. Follow me, if you want to get out of here.” 

“Right then,” John took a deep breath and followed one of his executioner’s through the burning town. He ducked under a clawed wing in a hidden alley when the creature was perched on the wooden wall. He ducked again under many archers’ aimed arrows, knowing that he wasn’t any kind of tempting target. He thought some of their defense mages stupid for using fire spells on a dragon that breathed fire. 

He then found that he had two choices to enter the larger Imperial prison keep at the rear of Helgen. 

“Idiots both,” he mumbled as he hid behind a rock to contemplate his choices. ‘ _Go with the Rebel or the Imperial? Who to follow?_ ’ 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**TBC…**

 

(…i…) Month replacement in Elder Scrolls.

 

January = Morning Star

February = Sun's Dawn

March = First Seed

April = Rain's Hand

May = Second Seed

June = Midyear

July = Sun's Height

August = Last Seed

September = Heartfire

October = Frostfall

Novemeber = Sun's Dusk

December = Evening Star

 

(…ii…) Age difference between the two fluctuates between fanfiction stories, so I don’t care what the canon difference is. In this story they have a seven year difference and I’m sticking to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer, et al:**   See chapter one, from here on this will not be repeated. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

  **CH 02 – 4E 194, Day 9 of Rain’s Hand**

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

 

 

Sherlock scoffed at the contents of the Cyrodiil Housing Guide (…i…) that he’d picked in some old ruin. He then mostly shredded it to use as a source to start his meagre campfire. His studies had lead him to wilds east of Cheydinhall. A place where old homes fell to disuse and older farms were overrun from lack of working hands. 

He paused on the page that announced the purchasable home that had one time been available in Bravil and wondered just which one they’d been advertising since the city had greatly changed in the last hundred or so years since the Oblivion crisis and the fall of the old Septim Empire. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**BRAVIL**

_Welcome to another house on with a waterfront district, only this time you’re in a town located near the Nibon Bay area of Cyrodiil. Rather than living on the outskirts of a city, you’ll be living riverside. Most homes are located in the upper levels of two tiers buildings as the seasonal rains can raise the water levels quite high._

_Built-in ramps and steps are provided for ease of access and so any prospective homeowners need not fear such an exorbitant price to upgrade their new home. The unique architecture of this city leads one to believe that it is a somewhat backwards town._

_That is certainly not true!_

_You’ll truly regret it if you underestimate the level of prowess and quality of thumping you’d receive from these particular citizens. They will demonstrate their abilities and skills to you should you ever chance to turn your back to anyone in this town._

_They are a hail, hearty and hard kind of people, but they are friendly, open and welcoming if you wear your daggers openly._

_So don’t let initial impressions be your motivation to avoid purchasing a home in this local. Furnishings can be purchased at ‘ **The Fair Deal** ’. A quaint little store, close to this town’s city gates which always boasts the fact that everyone gets a ‘fair deal’ at **The Fair Deal**._

_All you need to do is seek out Count Terentius in the Bravil Castle to purchase this little upper wooden home on the river. It can be yours for the equally low price of 4,000 gold._

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

“Homes in Bravil are certainly not four thousand gold anymore,” Sherlock snorted, wadded up the old paper and tossed it into his campfire. He knew that the cheapest was nearly of equal value to the ones that used to be sold in the Imperial City and housing in the old Imperial City was not worth their steep prices to reside there anymore. Too much political backstabbing and shenanigans of the courtly type. “Mycroft’s right at home there.” 

He looked around his camp site and made sure that his animal repelling ward was sound. He had placed several ground runes by use of scrolls and judicious use of his own magicka. But he also knew that travelers would see his fire and may think that he’s a bandit or else bandits may see his fire and think him an easy mark. 

Travelers may be welcomed, but bandits would soon know better than to attack him. 

He took out his personal journal and began adding to it. He wrote extended notes and more, but usually as though he was speaking to someone rather than recording aspects of his journey. Once these small books were filled, he’d send it off either for publishing, like some scholars chose to do as a way to share their findings or send it off to his brother to do with as he pleased. Usually Mycroft had it printed or published for the shops so that Sherlock would know that a) his brother was still alive by way of a personal dedication and b) that he’d at least opened the book to read the ramblings of his lost sibling. 

The personal dedications were his way to telling Sherlock where he was at the time of printing and where he planned to go in the future. It was a way that two of them tracked the other as they tried to remain within the same province. If they lived in the same city, no one could be blamed for the disaster that may happen when those two communicated. 

The latest dedication had mentioned something about Elsweyr. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

_4E 194, Some Time during Rain’s Hand_

_You’re no doubt enjoying the riches of a courtly life while I slog through the marsh’s dark ichor. Met with several Argonians, but they seemed to have been under the influence of their infamous potions, no doubt laced with too much Hist Sap; see drawings attached._

_Yes, yes! I know well enough to stay away from that substance due to its hallucinogenic properties. I’m much more interested in how well it mixes with the local flora rather that attempting to ingest any part of the compounds I produce. Have already paid several others to test them instead. They knew what they were getting into even if they did not like the results._

_Do not bother asking for the results as I’ve not recorded them down for any reason. I was testing them from an alchemy lab that I found in some old ruin. It was thoroughly destroyed by one of the subjects when they took exception to being locked in a cage. Unfortunately the alchemy station and results were in the same cage as the subject. Not my choice you understand, but you know that I use what I find._

_I may recall the combinations at a later date, but for now, know that I am fine and working my way south collecting ingredients for testing and to properly review. I’m doing a comparison against the old notes from that Sinderion herbalist fellow who used to reside in that vampire ruler’s town, ole what’s-his-name in the town between the Imperial City and old Kvatch. Oh well you know the place, that ruler hasn’t aged a day since the second era or else his offspring are true copies of the original through some kind of divine intervention, hence my conclusion that he is or was a vampire._  

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

Sherlock finished his notes in the journal and noticed that he was approaching then end of it. ‘ _Time to purchase or make a new one,_ ’ he thought with a frown. He put his hand in his backpack the feel the heft of his coin pouch in order to determine whether he needed to do an odd job here or there or whether he could afford to go to a book maker to purchase a bound journal of blank pages. He felt that there was enough for a new one. 

The book sellers did sell traveler’s journals for different parts of Tamriel too and some book sellers collected them over the various Eras and ages. The dark haired, half-mer was fond of those ones because they provided him with mysteries to solve, challenging location puzzles and history to research. Besides they took him to interesting places where he usually found more flora and fauna to continue his studies in situational deduction. 

“Hmm,” he hummed under his breath and fed another log to his fire. “Perhaps a short stop in Leyawiin and then onto Elsweyr following the ever expanding, sweet roll eater brother of mine. Do a circuit through that province into Valenwood back up to Cyrodiil depending on his royal Imperial boot-licker?” 

He looked to his low ink supplies and the near filled journal. ‘ _I’ll manage to fill it before I get to Leyawiin. They have a fair sized book shop there too,_ ’ he paused and then nodded to himself as he leaned against a gnarled tree to fall into a sort of meditative sleep. ‘ _Yes, a new journal and more coloured charcoal to draw reference images of the new plants and slim silk paper to protect them. Any and all magicka restoratives that I can find at the ancient mage’s guild._ ’ 

Sherlock loved making notes in colour and detailed images. It re-enforced the information that he gathered quite readily and could easily recall whenever local guards needed his aid. Even when they didn’t need his aid he was quite happy to point out their obvious investigative errors as long as he also pointed out the locations of his evidence or the reasons for his conclusions. 

Most times the guards were pleased not to have to investigate anything because sometimes that involved putting their own life on the line. They were guards and only learned enough to protect villages, towns and cities from brigands, bandits and the occasional oversized spider, bear or cave dwelling goblin. They were not meant to do more than that or so that’s what they believed. 

A few bright sparks were deemed the leaders. Even then they were ruled by a particular town’s politics which were usually reflections that came from the ruling family or Elders of a community in a formatted council where nobody ever agreed on everything at the same time. 

It was one of the main reasons that he started his wanderings, but more than that it was to get away from his older brother’s ambitions and his parents’ retired lifestyle. They’d been adventurers once upon a time, but had retired to a countryside living where they grew boring old vegetables like squashes that tasted bland and cabbages that were no better. It had been boring for two of their four children and those two had been given learning opportunities in Bravil’s education district where the Mage’s Guild used to house those that once trained in using their magicka. 

Magicka users were not rare. In fact nearly everyone in Tamriel was born with the ability to use a Destruction Spell, usually something fire related and a Restoration Spell, usually something for self-healing. It had been deemed by old scholars that those two spells were gifts from departing gods that no longer seemed to meddle in the affairs of those living on Nirn. 

Sherlock had scoffed at that and had set out to learn the truth. 

The final truth or conclusion that he’d been able to come up with, was that everyone in the past and present eras had known how to harness those two kinds of spells from the beginning. They either knew how to use them from birth or learned to use them in their childhoods. The rest was a matter of choice to either become a full user of the arcane magic or not. Of course family history aided in making those kinds of decisions, but then again it was also a matter of personal preference. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

Days later Sherlock arrived in a once well placed border town, but the atmosphere was horrific. Still he preferred this kind of living to the clean lines of his brother’s pompous and sterile life. He prepared his package with care and made sure that the courier knew that his life would be forfeit if his parcel was not delivered properly. The courier knew his job and was used to receiving such threats. They shrugged it off and began their journey heading towards the old capital of the province. 

Sherlock sold several old items that he’d collected from ancient tombs and from ancient white stone-like Ayleid Ruins. There were still many that were active or open to exploration. Most were buried under the earth much like the Dwemer structures that still pervaded the northern province of Tamriel, namely in Skyrim. 

‘ _Mental note,_ ’ he thought calling forth an imaginary parchment in his mind’s playground of ever changing architecture. ‘ _Must remember to travel to Skyrim in the future, might prove useful to hunt down Dwemer myths and history._ ’ 

He turned a blind eye to the conscripted soldiers of the Imperial army walking next to the Thalmor agents that seemed to pervade the old port city. The old counts and countesses are were all dead, but the ruling class knew how to deal with those that didn’t belong in their beloved Cyrodiil. They’d made them slaves or prisoners on trumped up charges before conscripting them into a bound service to the Altmers. More likely that most of those conscripted would have preferred to bloody their hands and kill those high elves as they were more like handlers rather than actual equal compatriots for the common cause. 

Sherlock’s eye was as blind as other standard Cyrodiilians when faced with so much oppression. 

He did make several mental notes about which ones would probably take action and when. Also several of those likely to die quickly on the distant battlefield or more likely to find a way out of their bonds. It was something of a trick to turn his mind to them for the few moments it took the book seller to properly bundle his small selection of references for travel to different climates. 

“Any interesting news on the local flora and fauna,” he turned his attention to the seller and received a favourable reply about an estate sale that was going to happen the next day.

“They need to rid themselves of several items and that includes the odd travel journal or two,” the seller confirmed. “Anyone is welcome to try their hand at obtaining the references as not all are in good shape.” 

“Ah,” Sherlock noised. “Understood,” he said as he carefully put away the small selection of books he’d managed to find that were not boring to look at. He was planning to transcribe them during his journey as that lessoned the dullness of extensive boat transit. “Thank you.” 

A blond haired soldier seemed to catch his interest by the method or way he stood as though he wasn’t too comfortable with the weapon at his side. Then the short man straightened and marched along in line with the rest boarding a ship that was obviously heading towards Valenwood. 

He sneered at the thought of his own research being interrupted by the goings on of war and then shrugged. He was prepared to move away and forget the rest of the conflict to get to his preferred locations although they had not been plotted out as of yet. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

John had noticed that someone was looking at him. He knew that it wasn’t any of the Altmer handlers, but he still had the strange feeling that his inconsistent stance had been the reason for the notice. He shifted again because he’d received a wound near his knee that had yet to heal. He needed to wait for nightfall or a stationary location before taking care of it himself. 

They marched on and boarded the ship that had been waiting for them. It would be another five years before he’d reach his beloved Skyrim, carrying with him the truly slim hope that he’d be able to see his sister once more. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**TBC…**

 

(…i…) Reference to a very short Fanfiction story that I made and posted on FF dot net under Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfiction. Story name “Cyrodiil Housing Guide”.


	3. Chapter 3

**CH 03 – 4E 201, Day 3 of Last Seed**  

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

‘ _Imperial or Rebel_ ,’ John thought as the dragon tried to spit an incinerating flame burst in his direction. ‘ _I think that I’ve had enough oversized Imperial mammoth dung to last me for the rest of my natural life._ ’ He ran in the direction of overtalkative Stormcloak rebel from the prison cart. He entered an enclosed chamber not long after the door slammed shut behind him. 

“We’ll meet again in Sovengarde my friend,” the taller blond Nord whispered to someone that had obviously died from exsanguination against the far wall of the triple entrance room. “You may as well take Gunjar’s gear. He won’t be needing it now.” 

John snorted softly at the poor attempt at a joke while his hands were still inconveniently bound. The entrance he’d used was not one that he planned to leave from and the other two were currently locked, if he was any kind of judge of that. The Stormcloak rebel eventually cut the wrist binding ropes so that his fellow prisoner could raid the corpse of his compatriot. 

A dyed blue lightweight leather tunic and a pair of fur boots. There was also handheld iron axe, but not much else. He waved it around for a bit to get used to the heft. The Riften native only managed to change out of the poor cloth shoes and put on the warm fur boots before one of the room’s gated door opened by way of an external mechanism. 

John immediately readied his favourite _Flames_ spell. The one spell in which he was used to using along with a secondary weapon in his left hand to deal additional damage. There were two Imperials entering the confined room. 

It was that bitch captain that had immediately sent him to the block without having any orders to kill him nor had given him any chance to defend himself and some other random Imperial guard with her. He grimaced as he burned and hacked at her corpse before raiding it and that of her companion so quickly that Ralof did not notice him doing it. He looked for a potential key and perhaps some way to escape their present room without having to return out of doors. 

He double-checked the quality of the Imperial lightweight armour, having learned and earned that skill from his time as boy in Riften running between it and Shor’s Rock for both blacksmiths exchanging ingots and treated leather. The Imperial armour was stronger, so he chose to put on the Imperial Studded Leather armour along with a pair of leather bracers he’d found in a chest in a room away from where he’d entered the keep and the direction from which that captain came from. 

He found four gold coins on a table which was a pitiful sum and some Alto Wine which he didn’t mind the taste of. It was useful for clearing his throat at the moment and he gulped the dregs from one of the less filled bottles. He smashed the empty against one wall and kept the full-one in one of the standard carrying pouches at his waist. 

“Have to watch my carry weight,” he muttered before joining Ralof in the other room. He showed the man that he’d found a key to unlock the door opposite the gate. “Let’s go,” he said to the rebel. 

“We have to get out of here,” Ralof confirmed with a nod. He waited semi-patiently as his new, short companion seemed to want to look in every nook and cranny, but it couldn’t be helped. The man was a stranger and he didn’t seem to know his way around Skyrim. ‘ _He doesn’t have family waiting for him like I do in Riverwood,_ ’ the taller Nord thought. ‘ _I might have him visit Gerdur to get a bit extra help. Sister could probably use him as a runner if that dragon changes course and heads towards the more populated towns._ ’ 

“Ready,” John said. He had out the axe in his left hand and the ready spell ball glowed in his right. If he had a better short sword it would be in his right hand and then he’d be casting spells from his left. It was a matter of preference and weapon comfort. He could wield a dagger and spell in either hand, but hammers and axes were best wielded from his left. 

He quickly followed the other man down to the torture room whereby three of the rebels had found their way down there. They assisted in terminating the lead torturer and his apprentice, but not before one of the rebels had died. 

John searched the room and all bodies for anything useful or of value as long as it didn’t weight too much. He left an iron shield behind because he didn’t like to use shields. He was lucky that some of the Stormcloaks were two-handed weapons users because the one that had died in the torture rooms had been carrying an iron battle hammer. 

It was a favourite weapon of John’s because of the balance and weight of it. Plus it worked well as an emergency staff or walking stick and was extremely useful in bashing the heads of his would-be assailants. Also his enemy would never expect someone as short as him to have the experience and strength to use such a weapon. 

He removed and dropped the Imperial head gear before donning the Novice Mage Hood that he’d found in one of the prison cells. It would help re-enforce his meagre pool of inherent magicka. He kept the Novice Robes for the interim since he knew that they could be disenchanted. 

Enchanting was another favourite skill of his that he’d barely had the time to learn before he’d been shipped off to skirmish after skirmish in the hopes that he’d die on some far battleground. 

The Cyrodiil enchanting methods differed greatly from that of the Nords in that he only needed to know the spells before being able to use them during the enchanting process along with access to metallic podium or enchanting alter. He’d been careful to keep that ability out of the eyes of his handlers or else they’d have made him enchant their weapons and there was no way that he’d help them win their battles. Now that he was back in Skyrim he’d been hoping to find the time to take up this hobby once more. 

John chose to immediately learn the Sparks Spell from the book that he’d found in the poor apprentice mage’s cage. Then he found another coin purse a cage with a skeleton. He quickly freed the loose coin from skeletal grips and gathered a bit of bone dust or bone meal before joining Ralof in an underground water system of the keep. There they encountered more Imperial soldiers, but those soldiers were quickly dispatched and sent to their gods. 

The Riften native obtained more armour, weapons and double-checked one of the longbows before ensuring that it was within easy reach for when he’d need it. “Underground caverns are well and good, but do you have any idea where to go,” he asked. “Are you even aware of the direction you’re going in?” 

“Does it matter,” Ralof told him. “We need to get out of here. So we go in the direction that leads away from that creature’s fire and ire.” He walked down a set of short steps into a true cavern. The short blond Nord followed, but the other rebels could not as the wall and bridge fell under another onslaught of stone due to dragon ire. The loudmouth told them to regroup elsewhere and that he’d meet up with them once they’d all safely escaped Helgen.

John noticed that the water was shallow where the bridge once stood. He jumped down and followed it before coming across another skeleton next to a phial that contained a minor healing potion, a pouch of eleven gold coin and some bone meal from the remains. ‘ _Bone meal is useful in potions,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _Not that I know much about those, but it should still sell for a price._ ’ 

Then he followed the smallish stream and met up with Ralof on the other side of a rotting grate. He followed the man through the underground cavern that had been used as the keep’s sewer. 

Following the water meant that there was a chance that they could end up outside. After several skeletal corpses, over-sized frost spiders, their webs, unhatched eggs and a couple of desiccated corpses, plus a huge hibernating or sleeping bear and the men did eventually find their way out of doors. 

“Well that’s that I suppose,” Ralof said after they watch the large black dragon fly away in an easterly directions. “If you happen to get to Riverwood, look up my sister Gerdur and she’ll be able to give you some supplies for helping me of that spot of trouble. She’ll be at the water mill if not somewhere else around the town. Talos be with you John.” 

John shook his head as the man ran down an unknown path. 

‘ _He’ll twist his ankle if he doesn’t keep an eye out,_ ’ he thought before he’d taken a breath of fresh and free northern air. He rubbed his wrists a bit before sending some of his healing magicka to them to clear them from the cloth burns he’d received. Luckily he’d managed to rinse them with some clear water from a water skin that he’d picked up. 

“First,” he muttered to himself. “I need to get back most of my gear.” That meant he had to find the border he’d crossed at and the cave in which he’d hidden his traveling supplies. He preferred his old and broken in armour and weapons, but first he had to find out how far away he was and his only path or direction at the moment was sort of in the direction of Riverwood. 

He took stock of his supplies and noted that he still had some room. “Alchemy ingredients then,” he mumbled. “A slow walk away from the scene of the crime and hopefully no one would think to associate me with that issue.” 

Until the war axe hit leathers, he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “Urgh,” he noised. “Gotta change out of these before anyone thinks that I’m for continued Imperial rule.”

The sun was about to set when he first set foot in the small town of Riverwood. He’d taken a roundabout way to the north east following a dirt path that had led him up a smaller one into a very small camp. There had been two bandits which he managed to dispatch quickly. He raided their corpses and put on the one set of fur armour that covered him the most. It had a fur hood attached which he’d made use of as the snow started to fall gently. 

He grinned, turned his head to the sky and then stuck out his tongue to catch a few of the cool, clean flakes. He remembered his sister and he doing this when they were kids hunting up some berries for their mother in the local hills of Riften. It didn’t snow often there, but when it did they had fun trying to catch those snowflakes on their tongues. 

John looked around the meagre camp and chose not to sleep on the pallets before the fire. He checked the barrels for food or other goods before he redistributed his burdens into more manageable set up. He put the extra shoes and boots in one of the barrels as well as most of the iron daggers that he’d collected. Several were rusty and he’d have to use precious iron ingots to repair them which he currently did not have on him nor did he want to spend the coin needed to repair them either. 

He noticed that the trail leading away from the camp would lead him closer towards the sound of the water mill and the split logs falling onto others. That made up his mind. ‘ _If there’s an Inn or if that’s Riverwood then I know I’ll at least find someplace warm to rest and maybe a place to sell off all this Imperial burden._ ’ 

He walked in that direction quickly, forgoing some of the flowers and berries since he was almost overheated from carrying his other items. ‘ _I’ll come back this way when I have a pick axe for raw ore and more room in my pack for ingredients or found items. Maybe I’ll be able to pick up a wilderness set and take my time to explore the immediate area._ ’ 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**4E - 200**

 

Sherlock was bored. Not an uncommon state for him or his mind, but the tediousness of having to stay in the Jarl’s home for the sole purpose of acting like a court wizard was just a little too much for him. ‘ _Only two more weeks,_ ’ he thought as he received yet another note from the incompetent person running the local apothecary shop. ‘ _That woman could never properly diagnose any kind of illness and shouldn’t bother with opening her mouth in the hopes of selling her inferior potions._ ’ 

He refused to give the courier a tip for the supremely short distance that they’d traveled between the shop and Dragon’s Reach. “Leave,” he barked. “You’ve done your duty, don’t clutter up these rooms with your presence any longer.” 

“Really Sherlock,” his older brother chastised him. “You should know better than to insult those who work in such professions.” He handed the courier a coin for his service. 

“Oh go back to your cakes and smarm at that Jarl,” Sherlock told him. “I hope that original wizard gets back soon.” 

“Why,” Mycroft asked. He’d planned for his brother to be close, but it was very obvious that he was chafing under such confinement. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and then he said, “I’m only here to support the Jarl for the time being while the other fool gets his training in Winterhold. If you believe that I’ll remain here on any kind of permanent basis then you’re a fool. Now get out.” 

He turned away, walking into the small side room and slammed the door shut. 

He hated the fact he’d been fevered when he’d been found and brought to Dragon’s Reach, but there had been nothing that he could do and his brother had been the one to incur the debt for his potion treatments. He’d been a fool to take up Skooma again even in a severely diluted form. However this time he owed his brother and that was the only reason he remained in the Jarl’s abode until the original court wizard came back. 

‘ _Hope that nothing happens to the brat,_ ’ Sherlock thought. ‘ _I need to get out of here. I need to explore the area rather than remain confined._ ’ 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**4E – 201, Day 20 of Last Seed, Fredas (…i…)**

 

John had roamed the countryside around Riverwood extensively. He’d cleared out four bandit camps, gathered a lot of pure iron ore that had yet to be smelted and made friends with a wood elf named Faendal. He was the local woodcutter and huntsman. 

Their meeting had been interesting and the end results had the mer offer his services to follow him whenever he happened to be traveling in the area. It was the best deal that John could have had because he’d needed the mer’s help in the beginning. 

Also there was the added bonus that the wood elf was a willing teacher for Archery. It was a skill that was very rusty and John had never needed it while campaigning in the other provinces, but it was truly useful in the wilds of Skyrim. He could hunt for venison and he could pick off the wolves at a distance before they could begin to circle him. 

“Better to get the drop on a wolf before it howls to call more companions rather than be forced to fight them all off the same time,” Faendal had advised him one evening when they shared a loaf of bread and a section of roast goat leg with a side of plain cheese. 

“All right,” John nodded. “Show me in the morning the differences between the long and short bow.” 

“I’ve a question for you,” the wood elf asked. His friend nodded for him to freely ask his question. “You go after a lot of the bandits and yet you haven’t even been interested in Lucan’s theft. I don’t even think you’ve asked anyone what the missing artefact was, why not?” 

John finished chewing his mouthful before answering. “When I first came into town I was distrustful,” he told Faendal. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself and I needed the time to build up a store of items that I could use before heading somewhere of value like Whiterun or Falkreath.”

“But Bleak Falls Burrow is just across from town and up in the mountains,” Faendal said. 

“Yes,” John agreed. “And it’s filled with traps, trolls, and who knows what kind of living dead still walking in their ancient halls.” He grimaced at that thought, but it wouldn’t be his first time he’d encountered walking skeletons. However he knew that the Draugr warriors of old would be worse than any creaking skeletons and he knew that he’d have to prepare himself well before trying to venture there. “Besides, I still have to increase my other skills and relearn some of my old smithing techniques to at least take care of my personal gear.” 

“Fine then,” Faendal said. “If you ever decide to make the trip, think of me and I might join you.” 

“Why,” John asked and the grinned cheekily. “Hoping to get Camilla Valerus to say yes when you propose to her by delivering the item yourself?” 

“I think that her brother would think favourably of me if I were to return his lost item,” the wood elf blushed, but agreed with that comment. 

“I’ll think about it,” John told him. “I’m going to have to travel on my own for a while and I’ll need to learn to not be so dependent on having company around me.” 

Faendal sighed, but nodded. He understood where the other man was coming from. It had taken him more than a year to obtain his own home for stability and reliability in Riverwood. He then looked at the wooden chest against his wall. He barely used it since he preferred to keep his tools and other items in the dresser and upright cabinets. He stood up and removed a gold ring with a bright red stone on it, along with two or three other items. 

“Here,” he said to John. “Put whatever you want in the chest,” he looked at the short Nord with a smile. “It’ll be safe here until you find yourself with a permanent home or someplace else to store them.” 

“Thanks,” John said. He immediately emptied his pouches and pockets of all the alchemical ingredients as well as the potions he’d managed to mix together successfully that were useful to him for restoring his health and magicka. He’d sold all others of minor value because he preferred homemade soups to help him restore his health. Most of his potions were nothing of real value, there weren’t many beneficial potions which had vexed him more than anything about the process because that had resulted in the loss of precious ingredients that could have been used to create something else. 

He also removed all of the books he’d been gathering because he was interested in their stories. His favourite have been the small travel journals of someone name Sher of the East. They weren’t published with any regularity, but they had been sold with a catchy title like “Myth Seeker: A True Telling of the Fall of Cheydinhall”, or “Myth Seeker: A True Telling of Argonian Hist”. He favourite had been the last one he’d received called “Myth Seeker: A True Telling about the Knights of the Nine.” 

His sister Harry had been the one to send it to him when he’d been stationed in Elsweyr. He’d managed to leave the army, but not without a severe and lingering wound to his left shoulder. He knew that she’d been busy, but that book had been one of the less dry offerings that he’d read from that same author. He enjoyed making notes inside those books, altering them to make them more reader friendly. That pastime had amused his fellow patients when they were recovering from their injuries. They liked listening to him read the altered books out loud to keep them company. 

Harry had made a few notes on the dedication page of that one, indicating that she believed that the person writing the dedication was not the same person as the author. John had re-read the other dedications and knew that she’d been right. Still they were interesting to read and he was pleased to have found a few more of them in Skyrim. 

John was still going to try and find that cave with his original pre-Skyrim equipment, if only for the fact that he wanted his modified books. There were several personal items that he’d love to get back too, so part of the reason he was still hanging around Riverwood had been to investigate the ruin of Helgen for any potential files that may still exist about their capture of Jarl Ulfric. He was hoping that the name of the crossing or town would be part of that information. 

Faendal then handed him the chest key and an extra one to his house. “So you can enter anytime whether I’m here or not.” 

“Thanks my friend,” John said as he clasped forearms with the wood elf. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**4E – 201, Day 21 of Second Seed, Turdas (earlier in the same year)**

 

“Finally,” Sherlock huffed as he watched the rain soaked, cloaked and hooded wizard walk into the wizard’s rooms of Dragon’s Reach, the Jarl of Whiterun’s palace. The rooms were a mess, but Sherlock hardly cared about that. He was itching to leave as soon as the other male had returned from his extensive magicka and political training. 

Farengar’s face fell when he saw the books all in disorder and his ingredients left to rot in the open on the alchemy counter. His beautiful desk had questionable stains and his map of Skyrim had holes that looked to have been suspiciously made with darts or more specifically throwing daggers. 

“What have you done,” the high elf demanded. “My books, my work space? What in Oblivion were you thinking when you made this mess?” 

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied. “I was told to make myself at home and I did. What did you expect? I wasn’t here on some kind of vacation. I had vital experiments to do and you had the equipment.” 

“I wasn’t on vacation either,” Farengar told him. “Now that I’m back you can leave.” 

“Can’t,” Sherlock replied with a yawn. “I’ll move into another room, but I’m stuck here for the while until you get back into shape and start being the court wizard again. Meanwhile you can take over the correspondence with that alchemist in town.” 

“What,” the returned wizard said. 

“Oh and I’ll be out in the fields tomorrow,” Sherlock added as he picked up several book references that he planned to keep without the other wizard knowing about them. “So welcome back.” 

“Wha…what,” Farengar questioned to no one as the room was vacated by his temporary replacement too quickly for him to notice that he was missing a few choice tomes on the history of dragons, their last sighting, the names of the dragons’ devoted priests and information about the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**TBC...**  

(…i…) Elder Scrolls – Weekday replacement names. See previous chapter for month name replacements, from here on this will not be repeated. 

Sunday = Sundas

Monday = Morndas

Tuesday = Tidas

Wednesday = Middas

Thursday = Turdas

Friday = Fredas

Saturday = Loredas


	4. Chapter 4

**CH 04 – 4E, Day 3 of Frostfall, Loredas**  

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

 

John had nearly emptied all of his travel packs into the chest at Faendal’s house once more. He didn’t want to bring too much with him, so he only carried a sleeping roll, a pouch of food enough for four days and three water skins. He had an additional pack on his back that carried only the most basic of camping equipment and of course he had his newly forged steel war hammer upgraded to a fine grade, along with a normal steel dagger, a plain bow and a fine hunting bow newly enchanted with a soul trap spell. 

He’d had enough empty petty soul gems to satisfy his needs to perform the most basic of enchantments as well as filled gems of the same caliber to re-charge his enchanted bow. He’d recently created a full set of personalized leather armour and was pleased with their tooled outcome. 

He walked across the town’s stone bridge following the directions he’d written down on the map he was currently creating. He’d already purchased a standard one from Lucan at the Riverwood Trader, but he preferred to make extensive notes on maps when traveling and used strongly died coal to do it. Making his own coloured ink was a process he’d only begun to learn since he didn’t want to pay exorbitant prices for paints of any type. So he used what he could get at the time and the blacksmith had a lot of regular charcoal for making notes. 

‘ _Cross the bridge and take the small path to the left,_ ’ he’d noted. ‘ _Follow it until I reach the old watchtower. The path is supposed to turn right and around the peak to reach the entrance of Bleak Falls Burrow._ ’ 

He put the map away, feeling slightly guilty that he wasn’t letting Faendal come along with him on this little adventure. But he reasoned that the man was busy getting ready for the winter and the coming month of Sun’s Dusk. It was a seemingly poor excuse, but he promised that he’d let the mer take credit for the return of Lucas’ stolen artefact rather than turn it in himself. 

John didn’t need the gold. He knew that the wood elf was planning to purchase extra household goods for his bride. That is once he got the courage to ask the girl to go to Mara’s temple with him. He chuckled privately every time he thought about how they danced around one another. He’d known immediately that the girl had enjoyed the attentions from two of the most eligible beaus in town and that she’d liked the teasing game too. 

That is until the swain in long gold locks asked him, John, to deliver a false letter to the girl. The person had swaggered up the street like he’d owned them and had even had the gall to disparage his mother’s claims of having seen a dragon flying overhead. ‘ _All right, so sure after a night of heavy drinking anyone would see dragons flying,_ ’ he’d thought at the time. ‘ _But it was bright daylight and the woman had yet to begin drinking anything. She’d even accepted a wolf pelt from me in exchange for six tomatoes that were too ripe for her to use before they turned bad._ ’ 

John had never liked Sven since. The fact that he claimed to be a trained bard and yet only knew two songs was another indication that the man was not trustworthy. He thought that the man’s attempts at being courtly were pathetic. ‘ _Besides he still lives with his mother,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _He didn’t even think about sending her to a house in a larger city to live near her friends like she’d told him that she wanted to do in order to leave him in possession of the Riverwood house. It was like the prick had ignored her._ ’ 

The Riften native crouched as slowly as his bum leg would allow him to as he walked cautiously towards the old watchtower. Someone paced across the small bridge and another was leaned up against a fairly large tree. The garb and the way they kept glancing between the two paths, one down in his direction and the other leading to the right and around, meant that they were the watch for their compatriots. 

“Bloody bandits,” John huffed softly. He took out his plain long bow rather than the short hunting one with the soul trap spell on it. He cocked an iron arrow, aimed slowly and released the fletched arrow to fly true and through the left eye socket of the bandit in front of the tree. He had power behind his shot, but it had alerted the bridge walker. So he remained ducked behind a very sparse bush and a boulder.

He waited patiently remembering his early lessons with some of the other child thieves living under the city of Riften. He never bedded with the thieves in their guild location because of his promise to Harry, but he did take lock picking lessons, knife throwing or dart aiming lessons as well as cudgel lessons with them. One of the hardest things for any child to learn had been patience. They had to remain silent and eventually they all learned to wait for the right time to move. 

John did that now and waited for the second watcher to relax before he notched his bow and let a second arrow fly. This time it hit the bandit’s arm, so he moved forward a few more paces before let loose another power arrow. This time killing the second bandit. 

‘ _How many more will there be in the old watchtower,_ ’ he thought. He looked at the structure as he snuck towards it in order to raid the corpses of the fallen bandits. He took all their lock picks along with their larger armour pieces and all the iron arrows he’d found. He’d left a fancy looking wooden cudgel behind and their rusty iron daggers as being too low in value to be worth the bother of carrying them around. 

He walked into the round tower and took the pouch of coin that he immediately noticed on a small table to his right. He opened up his sense of hearing slowly, listening for the presence of another living being. His senses didn’t quite work around the living dead, but then again he’d yet to meet up with any true Draugr from the childish nightmare tales that were told to scare the young Nord children into obeying their parents about staying away from ancient crypts, old burrows or forgotten cairns. 

He quickly released his hold on the extra sense so that he didn’t fall too much into it which was a danger to someone like him without another to watch their back. ‘ _Maybe I should have brought Faendal along,_ ’ John thought. ‘ _He seems to have the knack of knowing whenever I’m too deep into one of my senses._ ’ 

John snuck up and found the last bandit. This time he aimed a throwing knife at them before rushing up with a sword in his right hand and a burst of flames shooting out in a straight line from his left. The last outlaw didn’t stand a chance against him. 

The short man quickly relieved the last bandit of his heavy armour before going directly to the top of the old tower to see if the bandits had stored their ill-gotten loot in an out-of-the-way place. There’d been a chest with a couple of empty petty soul gems, a plain silver necklace, two potions of minor healing and one steel hand-held war axe that hummed and glowed faintly red with magicka. 

“Fire,” John grinned. “This will be very useful.” He looked over his haul and then decided to do a reckie or recon of the area around Bleak Falls Burrow before using a quick travel spell to take him back to the Riverwood entrance to clear out his immediate inventory. 

“Then I’ll think about having Faendal along whenever I chose to go to the burrow or not.” He shrugged and thought that the wood elf may be curious about the place considering the fact that he’d only moved into the town a few years ago. He had not grown up around the tales of the burrow or walking dead that were buried by ritual for the sole purpose to become undead walking security for protected dead or forgotten treasure. 

“Probably why Sven hated him in the first place,” he chuckled to himself. “Probably thought that he’d had all the time in the world to get the girl and then someone new or exotic comes to town stealing her attentions.” 

John had been very careful to not show the girl any interest because he knew that he wouldn’t be around there for too long. In fact going through the burrow was probably one of the last things he planned to do before heading towards Whiterun to warn the Jarl about the dragon, if someone had not done it before him. ‘ _I certainly hope that someone’s already mentioned it or else I might feel guilty because I delayed my promise to Gerdur, her family and Ralof._ ’ 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

“John,” Faendal called to him. He nudged the man who seemed to come to startled attention. “John are you all right?” 

“Yes fine,” John sighed. “It’s the dungeon dust.” He looked over at his recent friend. “Seriously I just went a little too deep into the sensing. I promise to keep it at a minimum.” His friend nodded because the man’s senses had been useful, but it was obviously a dangerous skill too without any kind of permanent backup. 

“Just be careful,” Faendal said. “There are bound to be more Draugr walking around or feigning death.” 

“I’m getting the hang of figuring out which ones are faking it. They’ve all had weapons in hand,” John explained. “It’s a visual thing too, but I promise to be more careful. I’m glad you wanted to come along.” 

“I’ll admit to curiosity about this place,” the elf agreed. “I just didn’t think we’d go this deep underground.” 

“Sorry about that,” John said. “If you want to turn back we can?” 

“No,” Faendal shook his head. “I want to know about the claw and what that stupid Dunmer thought when he’d found out about it. Plus there’s that puzzle in his journal about the ‘ _answer is in the palm of your hand_ ’ thing. I’m curious about that.” 

“Me too,” John agreed. “I do appreciate your company.” 

They continued on, resting at certain times within the burrow when they knew the location had been secured and deemed somewhat safe. The wood elf had been surprised by John’s lock picking skills, but then again the man was always doing something strange or surprising. Like the time they’d crossed the river to visit a hut that they’d been curious about only to find a note on a table had revealed the old woman to be a witch seeking to begin a secluded coven with the likelihood of becoming Hagravens. Since that seemed to be the purpose of witch covens confirmed throughout Skyrim’s past and current local histories. 

Faendal would never have read the note, but John did because he seemed to be the sort to have a curious nature. Although that was a bit farther from the truth as ever since John’s travels started he’d had to deal with all kinds of correspondence. He was now more naturally prone to read anything that had no seals on them. Even then if documents were sealed, he’d still read the notes whether they belonged to him or not. 

If he’d done otherwise he’d never have returned to Skyrim when he did. 

The last time that he’d read a sealed document laying around one of his commander’s desks had been when he read the foul orders that would intentionally kill the entire conscripted regiment minus their hated Thalmor commander. Needless to say that particular campaign didn’t go the Altmer’s way and the commander soon found that whether conscripted or not, not every man and mer was willing to live and die for a high elf, no matter what they believed the White-Gold Concordant meant or stated. 

The regiment quickly dispersed after the news that all the conscripted members were deemed dead on record. All those men and mer left the area whereas John left to seek help for his emerging heightened sense troubles. He’d been found by a wild mage that wanted to know more about his sensory issues and unfortunately he’d still been too trusting a man when he’d found himself in an entirely different type of trouble. 

Still John never forgot the lesson about reading whatever he could, whenever he could and doing so had saved his precious Nord hide on more than one occasion ever since. 

John looked at Faendal and nodded that he was rested enough to continue. The wood elf nodded back. 

They packed up and left the area. They were both sure that they were nearing an important location, but they still had to watch for traps, especially the kind with swinging blades and hidden levers or switches to turn them off. It was the shorter of the two that slipped past them first before pulling the mechanism chain to turn them off while the elf cocked arrow after arrow and used them to take down the walking dead. 

The northern dead still had most of their flesh due to a modified mummification process. It was an old method used in order to have loyal servants that would still work for families or their superiors based on their level of trust. The number of walking dead in Skyrim almost seemed to outnumber the living, but that was a misconception simply due to the fact that there were still conjurors in Tamriel and they knew how to reanimate all kinds of dead. 

Necromancy had not been banned since the Oblivion crisis over two hundred years ago and conjurers were more accepted now than in the past. 

It was creepier in the crypts, old burrows and ancient resting places because one never knew who the re-animator was nor what the dead’s true purpose was for waking and walking their ancient halls. It was dangerous because man and mer had their own motives. Quite frankly even those that were deemed long dead would still likely try to find a way back into the realm of the living or so the many stories told. 

It was a common enough tale when John traveled through Cyrodiil, Valenwood and Elswyer, why wouldn’t it be the same for Skyrim. They had their fair share of evil or disturbing rulers that wished to live longer or extended lives. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone attempted to raise them back to some kind of living form to continue creating havoc among his people. 

“There,” John nodded to the clay lantern pot above a pool of oil. “Drop that while I attract them.” His companion nodded and soon the four walking dead in the room before them were no longer moving. He cleared an alcove room of its meagre treasure and then followed the path that the Draugr had used to come down to reach them. They walked cautiously across a stone bridge that had pools of oil at either end of the bridge. 

“Looks like someone had pre-planned their demise,” Faendal mentioned. “It’s not like the Draugr would know to aim for the clay lights.” 

“They might’ve at some point in time before their brains rotted from age,” John replied as they opened a door that led them through a long hall.   He looked closely at both walls before he gasped and breathed out. “A Hall of Stories! I never thought that I’d see the like in my lifetime.” 

“Really,” Faendal questioned and perked up at that. He blinked and then pulled out the journal that belonged to the thief that had stolen Lucan’s golden claw. “ _In the hall of stories the answer is in the palm of your hands_ ’,” he read out loud. “Does that make any sense to you?” He didn’t get a reply as he watched the other man walk to the far end of the hall. He looked to the door and knew that it was a locked mechanism, but the answer wasn’t coming to him on how to unlock it. 

“Give me the claw,” John asked with his hand out. Once it was in his hand the Nord looked it over and then laughed. He held it out to show some symbols on the ‘ _palm_ ’ of the three toed golden claw. “In the palm,” he chuckled before he tapped the outer ring of the lock to force a change to the three exposed symbols. 

The outer wheel rolled to the right and the prominent symbol changed. He did the same with the other two, two more times to obtain the right symbol combination that matched the row of glyphs found in the palm of the stylized dragon’s claw key. As soon as all the symbols matched he pressed the claw into the center keyhole and just pushed it in with a quick decisive movement. 

The three rings rolled several times before they aligned in a row of matching symbols and the door dropped down into the floor. A wave of cave bats flew over their heads and out through the hall of stories. 

“I believe we’re nearing the end of this,” John replied cheerfully as he handed Lucan’s golden claw back to Faendal so that the elf could deliver it to the trader in Riverwood. 

“Oh,” the wood elf replied in a sarcastic tone. “I thought it was just the beginning.” His friend snickered at him as they entered a completely undeveloped underground cavern. 

It looked like some structure had been planned to make use of the full cavern. But only the far curved wall existed with a small stone bridge over a steady running stream, a bit water falling from the ceiling off to one side of the room and a raised section like a dais or alter existed. 

It almost seemed like an area for worship or sacrifice if John was being honest with himself. Before going to the obvious place they were supposed to go, they both knew to look around for the more interesting things like hidden treasure of any kind. They’d found two extra chests in the room, not including the over-sized and heavily ornate one on the dais next to the obvious stone sarcophagus that probably contained an overpowered likely high level or spellcasting Draugr protector of some sort. 

They both hoped that they’d do nothing to activate that one because they were both unsure about their survival against something overpowered. Besides they didn’t know if there were anything stronger than that spell casting Draugr Wight that they’d already encountered, but they were both sure that they didn’t want to meet any creature stronger than it either. 

John stepped up to the curved stone wall and had felt something brush up against his skin. It had almost been like an overwhelming thump or strum of sound. He felt the magickal sense of it and couldn’t help going closer to the back wall until he felt something in him settle and the sound ceased. 

“Fus,” he muttered softly. “What in Obliv…” 

“JOHN,” Faendal yelled to grab his attention. 

John turned around quickly and knew that he had enough time to unsheathe his weapon before it was forced out of his hand by the Draugr Overlord. His dual horned helmet gave his rank away since most other low level Draugr that they’d encountered never wore one. That was certainly true in this particular dungeon anyway. 

The creature had yelled the same word that John had just learned. There was obviously more to it than that, but now was not the time to figure it out. Instead he told Faendal to keep firing arrows as he held up both hands and called forth the destruction spells flames and sparks. He fired both at the same time and along with the wood elf’s arrows they overcame the strongest Draugr that they’d yet encountered. 

“Whoo,” John noised. “That was close.” 

“Yeah,” Faendal agreed as he exhaled deeply. “Next time you come here, you’re on your own.” 

“Heh,” John chuckled. He noticed something on the body of the undead and then plundered it like he’d done with all the others on their way through the old burrow. “What’s this?” He took out the piece of solid stone. It looked cracked, but it also looked like a map of Skyrim. “Odd, but interesting.” He packed it in some of the linen wrap that he’d collected and picked up the creature’s weapon. “Enchanted with some kind of cold spell.” 

“Keep it,” the wood elf said. “I think we should return to Riverwood now.” 

“Right,” John agreed. “There’s a mechanism up those steps. It might lead us out more quickly rather than backtracking through the burrow.” 

“I’ll take that route,” Faendal nodded in acceptance. “Any shortcut would be better than going the long way back from which we came.” 

It only took them about an hour to leave from the opening in the side of the mountain to get to the village. They’d roamed a bit on the other side of the river, killing wolves that attacked them, taking their fur and their souls to fill the small gems in order to re-charge their magical weapons. They reached a huge fallen tree and John remembered a numbered treasure map that he’d found on the corpse of a bandit that he’d defeated on his way to Falkreath, so he looked inside the fallen tree. 

Sure enough there was a chest. Upon opening it there were quite a few ‘ _smalls_ ’ as John called the jewels and gems they’d found within. There was a copper onyx circlet that he didn’t like the look of, but just handed it off to Faendal to do with at he pleased. It was worth more than the sum of the other items, so the wood elf was fine that division of items as he was with the bandit gear and other treasures found within the ancient frozen burrow. 

They walked back to the village and took their leave to go rest up until the shops opened for them to exchange all their dungeon loot with Alvor the Blacksmith and Lucan the Trader. After a day of non-traveling idleness on John’s part where he managed to wash all his belongings. He then proceeded to pack up most of it in order to go to Whiterun. 

It had become quite clear that Gerdur was still worried about Riverwood and potential dragon attacks. No one had notified the Jarl yet, much to John’s chagrin. He’d reluctantly known that he would have to be the one to do it and he hated delivering any kind of bad news. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**4E, Day 4 of Frostfall, Loredas**

 

“Oh come on Farengar,” Sherlock huffed in exasperation. “What do you mean I need to go?” 

“You need to clean out the rest of your crap from my rooms and make sure that you find yourself some other place to reside,” Farengar replied with a snarl. “You’re services to the Jarl in Whiterun while important is not enough to have you sticking around when it’s clear that you want to leave. My rooms are not a warehouse for your junk.” 

“These are important items of research,” Sherlock replied. “You can’t just kick me out of here.”

“But I can,” Jarl Balgruff said as he walked into his personal court wizard’s rooms. He was tired of their bickering. “In deference to your brother’s extended aide I will permit you to store your personal items within Dragon’s Reach until you find a permanent home elsewhere unless you’d like to purchase Breezehome in Whiterun.” 

“I can’t afford that,” Sherlock huffed. He looked contrite, but knew that it was an act and so did the others. Parts had to be played after all as that was how politics worked most times. “My apologies Jarl. I did not think that I had accumulated so many things in so short a time. Please don’t suggest that I join the Companions either, I can’t stand to be near half them personally.” 

“Very well,” the Jarl nodded and left. It was understood that the situation was going to sort itself out, but he liked the fact that he had to step in. It was rare that his duties did not have anything to do with the upcoming civil war. He preferred to keep his feet firmly in the middle of that situation, but also knew that a choice was coming and he was worried for his people. 

Sherlock quickly looked at Farengar’s triumphant expression. He narrowed his eyes and said, “You’re never going to be able to study live dragons because you’re too much of a coward and have made yourself too indispensable to Balgruff.” 

“You’re never going to find anyone to take you in or give you any kind of permanent home because no one will put up with your selfish needs,” Farengar returned. “My sources have already informed me of an important dragon artefact that I know I will be seeing long before you. The Jarl has agreed that I will be permitted to study it once we’ve found a suitable candidate to go retrieve it for me.” 

Sherlock just sneered and made the other mage uncomfortable with his presence. His deliberately slow, irritating method of packing up his belongings into the crates that some of the guards had gleefully carried into the mage’s workrooms made the court wizard even more irritable. It was a childish act, but the dark haired half-mer didn’t care and just continued to take his time. 

The guards were made to carry them out when filled which did not please them in the least, but as long as the nosy and noisy one was put in castle accommodations in lower rooms than the guards’ own tower rooms, they were content to do their duty in near silence to keep the peace. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This story will be posted in blocks and may or may not finish on a good note. However I'm still in the process of writing it and playing the game again. I'm hoping to get the newer version that allows for console mods and can't wait to play that version of it.

**CH 05 – 4E 201 Day 7 of Frostfall, Middas, just after mid-day**  

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats

 

John trotted up the winding path towards the central gate of Whiterun. He hadn’t been pleased that Gerdur still hadn’t sent a courier or some other messenger to Jarl Balgruff even if he’d already accepted the task. His honour would not allow him to delay any longer and the town of Whiterun needed to know that there were dragons in Skyrim once more. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

John had taken his time since his escape from Helgen to try and find any documentation about him or the name of the border town where they’d captured the rebel Jarl within the destroyed keep. There had been barely anything left and the place was going to soon turn into another bandit hideout if the Jarls of the region didn’t find a way to get some honest hardworking people back to live there. 

He’d also taken the time to run a few errands too for one of the other Jarl’s in a nearby hold. 

Surprising to him, the request for help came from an extremely young and lazy one. But the benefits of having a potential home within spell travel distance was too much of an enticement to not do everything he could in order to obtain his own patch of land. He did everything he could to build Lakeside Manor up to his meagre yet preferred sparse standards. 

So far he had a bare entrance with a main house or hall with only one tower built at the rear of the building without a roof. It was an alchemy tower because he truly needed a place to store all the ingredients he continuously collected. His tiny garden was fine, but he’d definitely needed someplace to put everything that he was gathering. They needed to be put away securely and safely, so an alchemy tower it was. 

He also had a bare kitchen, but it was fairly big without too much furniture. He enjoyed having the extra space to practice making his mother’s meat pies and fortified milk drinks. His sister and he had been treated to Snowberry Milk (…i…) whenever their mother had managed to get her hands on some ripe snowberries that were not about to go bad. It had been a rare treat, but one that they both remembered with fondness before they went separate ways. 

He’d prepared for his travels to Whiterun with the notion that he wouldn’t be seeing his beloved little manor for a long while. It was just something inside him that sensed that the dragon issue would not go away so easily, as changing his leathers for a clean pair. 

However the Dragon Stone that had been in the hands of the over-powered Draugr concerned him. He looked at it front and back. There was some kind of ancient writing on the back similar to the markings they’d found on the curved wall under Bleak Falls Burrow. The only thing that came to his mind at the moment was that someone or maybe even a group of people would be interested in the artefact. 

John decided to keep the true stone at his manor. He planned and practiced until he could create a very convincing charcoal rubbing of the tablet that showed it had been broken in several pieces. He only did a rubbing of the map side and ignored the markings on its underside. 

“If someone is curious about this, then they’ll have to convince me that their interest is sincere and honest for the people of Skyrim,” he mumbled as he made a second rubbing to keep a copy for himself which included one of the back of the stone in matched broken pieces. “Those deeper marks are important locations on the map, but what they seem to lead to? I don’t know.” 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

“Halt,” one of the guards with a full face shielding helmet and wearing a quilted jerkins with a yellow over tunic said. “The gates are closed with dragons about.” 

John huffed and replied, “That’s why I’m here. I’ve come from Riverwood seeking the Jarl’s aid.” 

“Riverwood’s in trouble too,” the guard looked at his fellow guard who nodded. “Fine, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you. In you go, follow the road up and across the bridge to get to Dragon’s Reach. You’ll find the Jarl waiting there.” 

“Thanks,” John said as the wooden double-doors creaked open. The noise caused him to shiver and rub his ear since the sound seemed a bit too loud to him. It was like it hit a nerve. He walked passed the people of the town as quick as possible, but after a few days on the road he was tired. He rented a room at the inn and slept until morning before meeting up with another Jarl. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**4E – 201, Day 8 of Frostfall, Turdas, morning**

_(…From here on there will be no more calendar dates unless needed…)_

 

John woke up refreshed and ready to get out of this city. He knew that it wasn’t the biggest nor the smallest town in Skyrim, but it was nearly in the middle of the province. It acted much like a hub for merchant and traveller activity. There were nearly too many scents and he didn’t like the fact that he’d had to sleep on the floor to avoid the barely cleaned sheets of the room he’d rented. There had been nothing that he could do about it at the time, but at least he knew that his sleeping roll was free from someone else’s unwashed aroma. 

He shivered as he did a cursory bathing of his face, arms, underarms and hands using the water in the jug and the basin provided when he’d asked for them the night before. It was the best that he could do at the moment rather than diving into a river. He’d rather wait for a warmer time of day to do anything of that nature, but the year was about to turn so he’d have to make plans to either travel south or hole up in his small manor until the season changed back to an early planting one. 

He packed up his belongings and decided to put on a set of civilian leathers that were more likely to fit in at a smithy rather than a Jarl’s court. ‘ _It’ll do,_ ’ John thought as he shouldered his pack. He had no intention of renting space to store it until his business in town was done. ‘ _Now let’s see if I can even gain an audience with this Jarl Balgruff._ ’ 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

Sherlock heard the snickers of the others as he sat down at one of the long tables to barely eat anything that was before him. The food was bland to him and the company around him was intolerable. He was only there because of his brother, but his brother was no longer in the immediate vicinity to shield him from those unsupportable others nor to keep those largely unwashed others away from him. 

He sighed and simply took out a common reference book from his pocket to read and ignore those seated next to him. Luckily he’d chosen to sit at the end of one of the tables, leaving one side free from necessary companionship. The rest did not expect him to make conversation and those that thought he did were soon disabused of that notion. He was about to sip the only tolerable thing at the table, some oddly vintaged wine when the doors to the palace opened to admit a complete stranger. 

‘ _Of course that she-wolf Dunmer bitch would draw her blade and assume that this stranger has come to harm old Balgruff,_ ’ he thought uncharitably of the woman. She’d been trying to bed him or his brother since he’d arrived at the palace in the hopes that she’d move up in station. It didn’t work, she was still the Jarl’s housecarl. 

He paused mid-sip to immediately make mental notes on the surprisingly short, for an obvious, Nord man. Then he listened to what the man had to say. 

“There was a dragon at Helgen and the people of Riverwood are seeking the Jarl’s aid,” the ordinary seeming blond man told the Jarl. “It attacked on the third day of Last Seed when the Imperials were about to execute a group of Stormcloak rebels.” He received a reaction from the Jarl that he didn’t care for. It had been a common one among his old Thalmor handlers whenever someone they didn’t like was put to execution. The leader had been about to dismiss his concerns. “The dragon did extensive damage to the village and of the original occupants of that village, I can only assume that some made it out alive.” 

“Yes there were unconfirmed rumours of that nature,” Jarl Balgruff agreed, his posture never changing as his eyes hardened at the information. “There are others that say that Jarl Ulfric made it out alive too.” 

John just shrugged and said, “I only rode into that town in a cart with him next to me. I did not notice any direction taken for his escape or know if he even managed to do it.” 

Sherlock perked up at that statement. He knew that there was something about it that sounded false and the Nord never looked like one that could keep his feelings or personal council hidden. However… 

‘ _Now this is an interesting little twist,_ ’ he looked at everyone thoughtfully. ‘ _He knows more than that or else it’s something else._ ’ His thoughts had paused and then like a light he nearly exclaimed out loud, but kept his own council in time. 

‘ _Oh! This one may be even more clever than the average Nord fool that I’m forced to put up with here._ ’ He hid his grin with his wine cup and thought, ‘ _He only knows the last time he saw Ulfric was that the man had been alive and that had most likely been in the midst of this dragon attack. The others will be assuming something else, something less than what this John person is telling them._ ’ 

Unique blue-gray eyes looked around the room and caught the attentive green-blue eyes of one that looked like he was just as bored being there as the other had been in reporting to an uninterested Jarl about the potential rise of dragons. The short blond rolled his eyes and smirked as though sharing a joke with a friend. The other dark haired person just blinked, gave a slight nod to acknowledge their combined disdain of this old Jarl and returned the smirk while quickly hiding it behind a cleverly and strategically raised book. 

The rest of the conversation didn’t merit Sherlock’s attention since the Jarl was trying to address the issue of saving some townspeople and his adviser, Preventis Avenicci was playing the Daedric advocate about other neighbouring Jarls taking offence at seemingly military movements. 

The conversation then turned to something interesting and so Sherlock paid careful attention to it. 

“Perhaps you could do something for me,” the Jarl drawled at the man who’d introduced himself as John son of Watts, born of Riften. “Well actually for my court wizard. He needs someone to get something for him. Follow me.” 

John frowned, but then his expression immediately changed to one of curiosity. He followed the older Jarl into the work room of a young court wizard that seemed to be in a flutter about something when the Jarl mentioned that he’d found someone to help him out with his ‘ _dragon project_ ’. He noticed that the room had an enchanter and an alchemy table. 

“Oh yes,” Farengar said looking John up and down. He looked at him expectantly and yet dismissively too. “You seem to be able bodied. I need someone to fetch something for me. But what I mean by fetch is to travel to an unknown tomb with unknown dangers, find it and bring it back to me. Do you think you can do that?” 

“What exactly am I supposed to be looking for,” John asked. “Wouldn’t want bring you back some old burial urn, lost pot or a common gem, now would I?” 

“Good question,” the court wizard said. “It’s seems that you’re not just some common brute mercenary, but someone that can think for themselves. I need you to delve into Bleak Falls Burrow. You’ll find it near Riverwood a small town of no consequence. Find the Dragon Stone. It was last rumoured to have been buried there. Go fetch it and bring it back to me. The Jarl will see you rewarded.” 

“Ah,” John replied with a seemingly contrite and sheepish look. “I’ve already been there and the stone that you want _was_ there.” He paused with his hand strategically brushing the back of his neck and then he continued. “I never bothered to take it since it had fallen when its last guardian was disposed of.” He took in the wizard’s incredulous expression. “Well since you’ve complimented me on my ability to think for myself, I did manage to so something. I have a paper rubbing of the stone from the pieces I had been able to gather and put together.” He took out a small roll of paper and handed that over to the wizard who looked confused. 

“Broken,” the man questioned as he unrolled the parchment. “Obviously broken,” he tsked at the markings on the paper. Yet the information from the stone was still available to him and could still be used. “Well I suppose that this will have to do. My colleague will not be pleased that the stone has been destroyed, probably due to some foolish overkill warrior move on your part,” he muttered the last bit to himself when the Jarl’s personal housecarl, one Irileth otherwise known at the she-bitch Dunmer had run into the room. 

“Farengar a dragon’s been spotted at the western watchtower,” she barely looked at John, but quickly added. “You come too since you’ve experience with dragons.” 

“Just the one,” John replied cheekily. “Didn’t do much, but stay out of its fire breathing way.” His comment was completely ignored as the others ran up to Jarl’s war room. As soon as he joined them, he took note of the military positions on the war map, names and locations as well as whatever had been found in written correspondence left out in the open. 

He then waited for whoever it was that they all needed to wait for. He quickly noticed that the tall person with the book from the dining table with the interesting green-blue eyes and black curled hair had followed them. Whoever they were had stuck to the shadows like he didn’t want the others to know that he was there listening in on their conversations. 

Once the information about the watchtower had been presented, the Jarl quickly instructed Irileth to take a contingent out to the watch tower and deal with the dragon. 

Balgruff then looked to John asking that he join the soldiers after which he added, “I see that Farengar has received what he needed. For that and your service to Riverwood, I will allow you to purchase property within Whiterun and you’re to be assigned a Housecarl. His name is Sherlock of the Holmes and he’s standing behind you.” (…ii…) 

Sherlock was startled when his name was mentioned. He frowned and wondered just what was going on in the Jarl’s head until he saw a smirking Farengar at the base of the stairs. ‘ _I know nothing about being a Housecarl! An obvious ploy to get rid of me,_ ’ he paused and then looked at the man named John who’d been looking at him with a questioning expression. ‘ _He’s definitely more interesting. But some things will need to be addressed as soon as possible._ ’ 

“I see,” John replied as he nodded to the Jarl and slowly walked down the stairs joined by Sherlock. “I need to speak to that Avenicci fellow first before heading out to aid the city soldiers in dealing with that supposed dragon.” 

“Only approach him when he’s inside the building,” Sherlock advised and handed John a pouch of coin. “He won’t sell you any kind of property if he’s outside. The weather out there is apparently bad for paperwork.” He glanced that the small Nord and added, “I want a full Alchemy station in the house.” 

John snorted and nodded. “Here,” he handed over two empty bags. “Go pack your stuff and we’ll see about getting you into the property after I buy it. Meet me on the other side of the Jarl’s bridge.” He didn’t know what else to call the canopied walkway over the small moat feature.

“I can get in myself,” Sherlock admitted. “But I’ll meet you on the bridge as you wish.” 

He actually wanted to say take me with you when you go fight the dragon because he needed to see the evidence of that creature’s existence for himself. He knew better than to make demands from a virtual stranger even if he was absolutely certain that the man was completely trustworthy despite his obvious to him, lie about the Dragon Stone’s status to Farengar. 

‘ _Political horseshit,_ ’ John thought as he’d noticed the ecstatic expression on the court wizard’s face when the Jarl said that Sherlock was appointed to be his personal housecarl. The man did not look like the standard fair expected in housecarls and that was something the John was relieved about. He didn’t need someone to follow him around and do battles for him. He certainly did _not_ need someone to act as his bodyguard. He needed something different and maybe, just maybe this Sherlock person would understand that when the situation was explained to him. 

He sighed as he watched the taller man in a bland, brown and yellow hooded robe walk away to pack up all his belongings to move. ‘ _I really don’t need another bit of property,_ ’ he thought, ‘ _But that man needs a place to call home and Lakeside Manor is privately mine for the time being._ ’ 

He paused and then narrowed his eyes when he noticed that the man he needed to see, the one named Avenicci and one that currently seemed to be accepting a pouch of coins from Farengar. ‘ _Well no one said I had to keep the deed to the property in my name._ ’ 

“Ah,” John said as he approached the older looking official, other than the Jarl who was not in the room at this point in time. “Preventis Avenicci,” the man looked at him. “I was told to look for you.” 

“Yes,” the man replied in a snooty, upper class tone. “I’ve been instructed to allow you to purchase a house within the city. Breezehome is available and fully furnished.” He looked down at John. “What do you say? Are you interested?” 

John smiled without it reaching his eyes. “How much?” 

“Two thousand gold,” Preventis replied. He wasn’t the only one desperate to get Sherlock out of Dragon’s Reach. He’d been pocketing coin for a long while now and could safely sell the house in town for that very modest sum and still have coin leftover to pocket permanently for his efforts. “It comes fully furnished with the option of a room for children or an alchemy station.” 

“Alchemy station,” John immediately replied. He noted the man’s frowning expression and added, “I’ve just been asked by the Jarl to take care of a dragon. Do you honestly think that right now I’m prepared to handle raising orphaned children?” 

“You seem to have put some thought to this,” the advisor said. “You can always pay to make that change at any time in the future.” 

“It wasn’t my intention of purchasing a house in town,” John admitted. “But my assigned housecarl cannot reside at the palace and do his job properly now can he?” 

“Very good sir,” Preventis agreed. “You do understand that if you die against this supposed dragon that your property will revert back to the Jarl?” 

“Yes,” John immediately answered. “I understand how estates work.” He signed the deed accepting it and had surprised the other man by demanding a purchase receipt. “Wouldn’t want to be accused to stealing it. Now would I?” 

“Yes sir, very good sir,” Preventis looked down his nose at the shorter man and handed him all the papers and keys for his new home. “Welcome to Whiterun.” 

John just gave him a steely eyed look and said, “Right,” before he left quickly to visit the court wizard’s rooms in order to disenchant the Jarl’s inappropriate gift of an enchanted set of heavy scale mail armour. 

‘ _Like the bloody thing would fit someone like me,_ ’ he thought. He felt the tingle of magicka run through his hands. He accepted the innate knowledge that came from absorbing a new spell or change in his understanding of magickal use. ‘ _Weight adjustment,_ ’ he thought to himself. ‘ _Very, very useful. Now I just have to find the largest filled soul gem to make better use of that spell, once I get my enchanting skill up to where I’ll be happy with it._ ’ 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

Sherlock didn’t have to wait long at the other end of the Jarl’s Bridge as the short man, John had called it. 

‘ _Seems appropriate,_ ’ he thought as he watched the same guard pass him by with a glare. He’d already made an assessment of the man’s life and had no wish to continue seeing it. He was about to say something to him when the doors opened and John son of Watts came out of the building with a somewhat pleased expression on his face. 

John looked up and smiled as Sherlock. “Son of Holmes,” he said by way of greeting. “Hello.” 

“Sherlock,” the man replied. “Please.”

“Yes of course,” John said. “I’m Jion, but prefer John. So since you know where the place is, lead on.” 

“Ah,” Sherlock said. “So you’ve received the deed to Breezehome.” After an affirmative reply, he said, “Let’s then.” 

The tall man led the other man through the town explaining a bit about the geography of it, the location of certain landmarks, where the other man’s new house was located and then finally giving a cursory analysis of the local populace and his opinion that those with ‘ _arrow to knee_ ’ type injuries were actually cowards or poor, unfortunate married or bonded folk. 

John unlocked the small yet comfortable looking Breezehome building with laughter at that funny conclusion. He opened the door to a cozy dining area with a fire pit, shelves and a small weapons storage rack, with a small kitchen at the rear. There was a small set of stairs on the left hand side leading up to what he presumed were the sleeping quarters and under the stairs there was a door. He opened the door to see a small alchemy station with a simple bookshelf, a chest on the top of it and various pouches and ingredients strewn all over the work surface. 

“Nice,” he said. “Quite nice, once most of the clutter is cleaned up.” 

Sherlock was up the stairs quickly and having found that he had more baggage he commandeered the larger of the two rooms. He’d already presumed that the smaller was for a real housecarl and since he did not identify with that designation, he felt justified in claiming the larger room with the increased storage within. He needed a place to store his collection of mage robes that he’d accumulated from his travels and that room also had two end tables with enough room for his smaller treasures. Jewelry and standard precious gems were stored in one while the other held his accumulated variety of filled and empty soul gems. 

John had only quirked an eyebrow up and shrugged. “I’ll need to make a chest for my room, but other than that it seems quite cozy. I quite like it.” 

“Right then,” Sherlock said as he sat on the chair next to where John was settled in front of the fire pit and stirring something that smelled good. “When are we going to fight the dragon?” 

“When do you want to go,” John asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with now,” Sherlock replied. 

“Actually we need to take care of a few things first,” John told him. “We need to have ranged weapons and something melee for when that thing is grounded.” 

“Ah,” Sherlock hunkered down to think about the implications. “I do have several long distance spells, but they won’t last long. I’m adept at hand-to-hand combat and swords, but nothing bigger and will definitely have nothing to do with cumbersome shields. The last good bow I had broke when I was traveling in Elsweyr and I haven’t had the time to replace it.” 

“I’m good enough with a bow and will use an enchanted one, provided the beast is not protected against the element within it. I do have an extra one that you can use, but it’s not enchanted,” John nodded. “Once grounded, I’ll use a non-enchanted steel battle hammer and we’ll have to watch out for city guard interference.” 

“Point,” Sherlock agreed. “We can’t go overly geared, but we need to have extra protection. I have just the robe-set for this task. You?” 

“Leather armour set, partially enchanted,” John replied. “Mage hood instead of helm, but it shouldn’t take too long to bring it down since I suspect that it will not be the same creature that attacked Helgen.” 

“Helgen, yes,” Sherlock eyed his new companion. “You’ll have to tell me about that someday.” 

“Later,” John replied as he drank a bowl of soup down and had handed one to Sherlock who only stared at it. “Energy,” the man replied to the quizzical look at the soup as he stood and went to change. 

Sherlock sipped the soup tentatively and then downed it quickly. It was tasty and had many different flavours, textures and scents. He was slightly surprised that he felt enervated from taking it. He shrugged, went up to his room and unloaded most of his things. He needed to find the set of robes that would suit him for hunting down a dragon. He needed to ensure that he didn’t run out of magicka too fast either and for that he had personalized battle potions that replenished his magicka quickly. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**TBC…**

 

(…i…) Snowberry Milk – from a Skyrim mod that probably includes a whole bunch of other drink items. 

I’ve not played any kind of modded game because my computer is still in Windows XP and the graphic card is shit. However I’ve watched ever so many modded Skyrim game plays and have seen that item on the food list a few times along with Juniper Berry Tea, Koffe, vegetable juices of all sorts and one mod that even allowed for the modification of Nord Mead to add Juniper berries as per the opening scene and Ralof’s comments about a bar maid. 

(…ii…) I know that the fight with the dragon at the watchtower takes place first before a housecarl is assigned. But for this story it’s clear that everyone wants Sherlock gone from the Jarl’s palace and this makes the story more fun.


	6. Chapter 6

**CH 06**  

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

 

“Dragonborn!” One of the Whiterun guards exclaimed. 

“What, Gods no,” John sputtered and shook his head quickly from side to side. “Just no.” 

“You are, aren’t you,” the bewildered guard persisted. “You swallowed that dragon’s soul.” 

“No I didn’t,” John insisted. 

“There’s no denying that something happened John,” Sherlock said in a tone that indicated he was thinking deeply about something. 

“You did,” another guard insisted. The guards had gathered around John by now and were nearly all talking about having taken down the dragon and then fact that they were witness to a Dragonborn swallowing a dragon’s soul. “That means you have the ability to ‘ _Shout_ ’ just like the dragon’s do. Go on, show us your Shout.” 

“NO,” John said as he shoved the guards out of the way. “I’m not some trained monkey and I’ll not do tricks for you.” He was clearly upset and then suddenly before a guard tried to touch him, his new companion was there to stop it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“What is this nonsense,” Irileth demanded. “There’s no such creature as a Dragonborn.” 

“You’re not a Nord,” one of the guards said. “You wouldn’t know about them housecarl.” 

“I’ve been all over Tamriel in my lifetime,” she said. “I’ve seen plenty of strange things, but never one described as such. Therefore there is no such thing.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sherlock said as John stood further away from the others. “You may have roamed extensively around Tamriel’s provinces, but that does not mean that you’ve accessed ancient archives with all available information.” He paused and then added, “Nor is it your place _Mer_ to judge a people’s culture by their beliefs against that of your own. They are allowed to believe in the coming of a Dragonborn and they are perfectly capable of coming to their own conclusions about what they’ve witnessed here today. Not that they’d be any more correct in their assumptions since the whole is lacking in evidence because as John’s said, he doesn’t need to _Shout_ to prove anything to them.” 

He then turned to join John. He noticed that the short man was focussed on something in the distance, so he just gently nudged his arm to get him to move along. 

John had been focussed on a giant’s bonfire camp and the herd of mammoths that they were guarding. He blinked when he felt the nudge and slowly closed his extended senses, returning them to a more normal setting in his mind. He followed some of the training that he’d been given by several, different Mane bodyguards in Elsweyr that he’d met and had discussions about different techniques to prevent lost emersion as they called the fugue state. 

Manes were like Counts and Jarls, plentiful and ruling territories, but they also had bodyguards with an ancient and rare skill that was not commonly known in the other provinces of Tamriel. The skill of selectively enhanced senses, but with it came a danger of going too far into one particular sense. They needed a bonded partner, someone they absolutely trusted at their back to always bring them out. 

John had learned of this need, but had also learned that he’d know when he’d found his other half, the one his soul cried for and needed to retain his sanity. He knew that he was close to meeting them, just by trusting some other sense within him. It was much like the sense he had when playing with magicka and enchantments. 

Faendal had been the closest, but he’d known that the funny wood elf was not the one. However it was the first time that such a slight nudge was all it took to get him out of the emersion state he’d been in when he watched the distant fire dance. 

“Thank you,” he said to Sherlock. The other man took it to mean about what he’d said to the guards and just shrugged at him. “Breezehome?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “Perhaps we can take our time and you can answer a few questions that I have.” 

John shrugged and said that he didn’t mind the questions, but that he’d refuse to answer if something made him uncomfortable. 

“Why’d you lie to Farengar?” Came the first question and a very sharp look from the short blond man. “Oh, please. It’s clear to me that you weren’t telling the entire truth. It’s also clear that you really are one of the Dragonborn that these Nords believe in because I can see magicka and the way it travels through the air when active. It went in you like it would into a soul gem, but since the light of the soul was different and it wasn’t aimed at any of your pockets or baggage, it went to you or in you.” 

“Oh,” John noised. He wasn’t offended. It was more like he was surprised. “But I’m just a simple man.” 

“You’re definitely that,” Sherlock replied. “Well I wouldn’t call you simple because there are so many factors that make you unique among your unfortunately dull northern brethren.” He received a looked that seemed to indicate that an explanation was needed. “You’re obviously a Nord by your disposition, barely there accent and colouring, although you are shorter than your kind so that indicates a mixed parentage somewhere. You’re also obviously a warrior by the way you handle a bow, but Nord by your preference for double-handed weapons which you have definitely learned to wield with dexterity. You’re an experienced battle healer with the way you managed to heal most of the guards while waiting for the dragon to round the watchtower. Your limp is from a wound to your leg which I certainly hope has nothing to do with an actual ‘ _arrow to the knee_ ’. Which has to be the most common northern complaint that I’ve heard from town guards in various Skyrim cities that I’ve visited. They all claim it as a valid reason for their lack of adventurous spirit, but I suppose that it technically means they may have committed themselves to hearth and home rather than having received an actual wound, since with potions and magicka any kind of wounds to the knee could be readily healed unless the person doing the healing were truly incompetent.” 

He’d already mentioned this once, but felt that it needed repeating since it could also be deemed as a warning of what most town guards would be talking about should they meet up with any of them or just happened to cross the guards paths. “All you’d really get from such an injury is a weather wound, you know those aches that happen to old people when the weather goes bad.” 

John snorted, then chuckled and out right laughed at the other man’s recitation. The longer Sherlock talked the more that the information was funny to the Riften born. “That’s bloody brilliant,” he said with clear admiration in his voice. “Amazing, simply amazing.” 

“Is it,” Sherlock asked. This was possibly the first time anyone had openly enjoyed what he’d deduced about them or about the local population. “There’s more.” 

“Really,” John asked with a gentle smile that indicated he was not mocking the taller man in any way. 

“Yes.” 

“Go on then,” John said. “Tell me.” 

Sherlock cleared his throat and continued with his analysis of the intriguing man walking next to him as they walked along the stone road back towards Whiterun. “You lied to the court wizard about the Dragon Stone which is unfortunately obvious only to me because of my extensive study in the various facial expressions made by many of Tamriel’s extended races. So I do know that it’s not broken, but you were not carrying it with you either. So that means you’ve left it somewhere you considered safe. You’ve recently returned from some southern province, military campaign is my guess based on the skill you displayed in dispatching the dragon and healer trained as per previous mention in helping the guards with their wounds. Conscripted from some kind of indenture is my next guess as you don’t look like the type that would go hunting for a war and certainly nothing for glory’s sake despite your northern penchant for battling it out for honour of home and family. Certainly not for any of the Thalmor considering their methods of using all others to do their bidding and the fact that they banned worship of what’s considered Skyrim’s claim to a forefather or godlike being in Talos.” 

“How…how could you possibly know that,” John asked. His expression clearly indicated curiosity rather than any kind of disdain at the information presented. 

“Skin discolouration,” Sherlock pulled at the open collar and pointed at the man’s exposed skin which had occurred during the battle. 

John looked down and noticed that his shirt had opened during his fight. His chest hair or short blond fur was partially exposed, but still showed some whiteness of skin underneath. “Not a common conclusion,” he observed as he retied the shirt strings to keep the chill out. “Good guess though.” 

“Not really,” Sherlock admitted. “I believe that I might have actually seen you in Leyawiin several years back. Although I do tend to remove inconsequential information from my memories, I can’t seem to forget seeing a strangely short Nord so far south. If it was you, you were slouched while in military formation.” 

“I was there several years ago, that’s true,” John agreed. “Infected scratches to my lower leg from a swamp troll. Disgusting creatures, full of disease, but I was lucky in that the apothecary in that town had a ready cure available. It just took longer to heal the actual wounds because of the all the walking we had to do to get there. I couldn’t take the time to mend the wound because they wouldn’t give us the time to do such things. The damage was irreversible after that, but I can still get to wherever I need to go, even if I need aid in walking sometimes. I’ll use my weapon which will make bandits think twice about attacking me when I’m on the road.” 

“Fascinating,” Sherlock stated. “In all my time in those swamps, I’d never even encountered a swamp troll.” His companion just shrugged at that. “Will you tell me of your travels?” 

John looked at the other man and then said, “Only if you tell me about some of yours and whatever else you have conclusions about.” 

Sherlock looked at him and grinned. It was his first genuine smile in a long time, but he felt pleased with that kind of reply since it was clearly an honest and non-judgemental one. 

They had just made it to the Khajiit caravan tents just outside the main gate of Whiterun when something came booming down. It sounded like the loudest clap of thunder and yet John heard the word imbedded within the sound. 

“ **DOVAKIIN**!” 

John put both his hands to his ears and crouched low as though to hide or bury his head in the ground. He whimpered as his head ached from the pain of too much noise and he nearly attacked the person that put their hand on his head. 

“Easy John,” Sherlock said in a low, soft tone, but the sound was still too loud for John. “In your mind there is a switch, a pull or a lever that regulates each of your senses. Look to the one for hearing and lower it slowly until you can barely hear my voice. I’m whispering to you, but I know that my voice seems too loud at the moment. Turn the handle or valve on your sense of hearing down.” 

John listened to the calm voice of the man he’d just met. It was strange to him to feel the need to listen and yet everything he said made sense. He’d forgotten in the moment after killing the dragon to regulate his senses to something more common which had been why he was caught by the sight of the distant bonfire and why the sound of that vocal thunder nearly deafened him. He’d still been on the alert for danger, but he should have known to turn most of it back down when he’d reached the town’s stables. He’d automatically done it for his sense of smell, but not the others. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did so again several times until he could let go of his ears and look around. “Oh,” he mumbled as he found himself sitting by the fires offered by the caravan traders and leaning against the one that guided him into regulating his senses. He looked to the supposed leader of the cats that was sitting across from him and said. (…This one thanks you for your hospitality…) 

The Khajiit around him looked surprised and the pleased that he spoke their language. The oldest and confirmed leader of this band looked at him closely and asked, (…Were you born in the embrace warm sands?...) 

(…No…) John replied with a shake of his head. (…I was born in Skyrim. My mother was half…) It was all he had to say. 

This bi-pedal beast race was unique in its acceptance of alternate lifestyles which to them meant children born outside their blood race. Being born ‘ _half_ ’ could mean anything from actually being half-Khajiit to a mix of many other races that included cat race genetics somewhere in their combined past. It was an accepted Khajiit term for someone of mixed race and blood. They knew that skills traveled in the blood, but in this case it was the simple fact that John was speaking to them in their own language with the proper inflection and terminology when referring to himself that impressed them the most.

(…This one is Ri’saad…) The oldest and grey furred one spoke to John. (…I have seen and spoken to those special Mane guards. Do you happen to have a Second, a Guide?...)

(…Someone to pull me out…) John asked for clarification and received a nod. (…Aye…) he said and nodded to Sherlock who looked surprised at the attention. (…He’s the swiftest one that this one has found. He does not know of the Mane guards’ history nor the truth about being a Guide or my second…) 

(…You must tell him soon or simply let him know that he is needed…) Another Khajiit said. (…This one has heard of the Sherlock half-mer. He does not make many friends with his choice of words when speaking to those he barely tolerates. He is kind to the Khajiit and all others that are considered beneath the Nords’ attention and so he is deemed friend by most of them…) 

(…This one understands…) John replied. (…Thank you for your aid…) 

Ri’saad then added, (…My Queen-mother was mated to a Mane guard before he developed the old skill and left her for his Guide, his second. I will look for references for your Guide to learn what it means to be a guide to you. But this one believes that he is good at following his instinct too…)

Sherlock could barely understand the conversation, but he knew that they were speaking of him. He just didn’t know in what context and that irked him until John stood up and said, “Let’s go home.” 

Home was an interesting word, but Breezehome for the interim was now home. Sherlock could freely acknowledge that. He waited as John bartered away some of the dragon’s bones and one scale to the caravan boss in exchange for those book references. He didn’t know what the references would be, but he knew enough of the language to know that they were talking about books quite possibly for him. 

“Yes,” Sherlock quickly agreed when the transaction was finished. “Let’s.” 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

It had only been a day since the dragon died, but John was still in his room sleeping. At least that was what it looked like to Sherlock and he didn’t sense that the other man needed him so he just fiddled with his baggage in his room, continuing to put things away until he grew bored of that. Then he began to set up an alchemical experiment that he’d been interested in conducting for a long while now, but that simpering court wizard had prevented him from having access to the complete alchemical worktable. 

Sherlock had refused to go into the shop district because of the intolerable woman that ran the local apothecary. Despite the fact that she had a full alchemical set-up too, he couldn’t stand being in her presence. He was glad that John had agreed to get the alchemy station for this house although he wasn’t certain how long he’d be welcomed here. Still the experiment was important and he felt that he’d waited long enough before beginning it. It may have been only five in the morning, but he’d been awake long enough and so prepared it. 

John took his time resting in the room that had been designated his. He didn’t mind the smaller room. In fact it was somewhat comforting. He didn’t have many belongings here which was all fine by him. His current rest was slowly evaporating since there was a questionable smell that was intensifying the longer he lay there and that’s when he realized that his house companion was in the alchemy lab and playing with something odd. It was also then that he realized that his room was directly above the lab and that he’d likely be subjected to a variety of odours if he wasn’t up before his new friend. 

“By the gods what have I gotten myself into,” he muttered as covered his eyes and then rolled out of bed. 

He used the jug of mildly scented water that he’d prepared the night before. He washed himself more thoroughly and dressed in casual leathers to air out his battle ones. He looked them over and noticed that they’d need to be repaired in a few places, but at least he’d brushed the stench of sulfurous dragon blood off when they arrived home the night before. 

He went down the wood stair and played in the kitchen preparing something simple to break their evening fast. They’d stayed up somewhat late, but had both gone to sleep soon after their conversation. There were still many things to discuss and he wouldn’t be surprised if he was summoned before the Jarl in order to make some kind of report about the events at the watchtower. 

John used a splash of Juniper Ale in the pot where he was mixing some red apples, cabbage pieces and a very small wedge of mammoth cheese. It was a personal recipe that required precision, but the combination was mildly sweet, if done correctly. It was also quite nutritious and filling so that he’d only need to snack on other foods during the day before having something a little more meaty at night. 

He was thinking of reversing the order of the meal to match more of what he was used to having when he’d been campaigning with the Altmer. He may not have liked the fact that he’d been conscripted, but there was nothing he could say against the kinds of meals they offered to keep their troops strong. There had been plenty of meat and milk in the mornings whereas the evening meals consisted of vegetables raw and cooked, making that a lighter, less heavy fair. 

‘ _Might be useful, if I’m forced to continue fighting dragons on the Jarls’ behalves. Lazy sods,_ ’ he thought as he watched Sherlock come out of the alchemy room in the strangest set of gear that he’d ever seen. “What are you wearing?” 

“Protection,” Sherlock said in a slightly muffled voice from behind a leather face mask and under stained hooded robes of some unknown religion. He pulled down the mask and explained, “These are spelled for protection and they help me with my alchemy.” He leaned forward to sniff at the interesting concoction in the stew pot. “Picked them up in Cyrodiil, well I say picked them up, but my brother had them commissioned there for me. Say what you will about that province of megalomaniacal counts and countesses, sycophants and rulers, they do have a very different enchantment system than Skyrim.” 

“True,” John nodded. “Are you done in there?” 

“Hmm,” Sherlock said as he took a small sip from the bowl that John offered him. “No, I need to let the compound simmer for several more minutes before turning off the heat and adding another reagent to solidify the mix.” 

“I have to go to Dragon’s Reach sometime today,” John told him. 

“Whatever for,” Sherlock asked in a surprised tone. 

“To report to the Jarl,” John sighed. “It’s not that I want to, but I must go before someone comes here with the demand that I go.” 

Sherlock looked at him and the nodded. “Yes, it’s quite likely that old Balgruff will need to see you since he asked for your aid. He’ll want to know what happened, but I don’t think that you’ll get credit for it.” 

“Don’t want it,” John said. “The Jarls are lazy and will award anyone that does any dirty work for them.” 

“I’m going with you then,” Sherlock said. He received a sharp look. “Yes I want to torment that little twit, but I want to use his enchanter too.” 

“Right then,” John said. “I’m going to sort some of my things for disenchanting. Did you want them or should I do it?” 

“Depends on the enchantments,” Sherlock said. “We may know the same ones or complimentary ones. I have two common soul gems with the proper sized souls. You can have them or I can enchant something that will increase your health or stamina.” 

“Do you need something for any kind magicka or elemental resistance,” John asked. 

Sherlock looked and nodded, “Magicka resistance would be nice. Do you have something to disenchant or do you know already that one?” 

“I already know that one,” John replied. “However my enchanting skill is still somewhat novice.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Sherlock said. “You enchant and disenchant more items and your skill will grow. I have a silver sapphire necklace somewhere in my belongings that you can enchant with magicka resistance for me. If the little twit has got a greater soul gem properly filled, we’ll buy that and use it for my necklace.” 

John nodded as he finished eating his morning meal and washed it down with a small jug of goat’s milk. He preferred it to cow milk, but if he turned his sense of taste down then the taste of either didn’t matter to him. He then rinsed his mouth out with a sprig of mint and water before spitting into the fire of the kitchen pit. It wouldn’t put it out, but it would bank it so that they wouldn’t have to worry about sparks escaping the pit and catching something on fire while they were away from home. (…i…) 

They dressed casual for the town and the meeting with the Jarl. Before they left John had Sherlock sign the deed as a secondary home owner of Breezehome. 

“Why,” Sherlock asked after he finished putting his name to the document. 

“So that should anything happen to me, you still have a home,” John replied. “I have a feeling that this issue with dragons and whatever that noise was last night is just the beginning of my troubles.” He looked at the taller man with obvious mer blood in his bones and said, “Could be dangerous. Interested?” 

“Hmph,” Sherlock huffed. “Mysterious unknown tombs, forgotten cairns, lost history, adventure, questionable food sources and rotting books or lost scrolls and arcane artifacts,” he grinned. “Of course I’m interested. There are mysteries to be solved and myths to seek out, maybe even debunk.” 

Both men giggled as they locked the door to their small home and headed towards the Jarl’s palace at the top of the hill within Whiterun. 

Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats – Of Mammoths & Sabrecats 

**TBC…**

 

(…i…) Not a camper and not a fire expert. Do not follow this and believe that it will work. So basically do not try this at home because I do know that that’s NOT how you bank a fire. I could have just said he used a frost spell to lower the fire’s intensity, but spitting just sounds like a Nord thing to do.


End file.
